


this is the recipe of life

by mochibun



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda (Video Game 1986), The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Decisions, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Magic, Mother-Son Relationship, Timeline Shenanigans, Title from a poem, Worldbuilding, from a LW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochibun/pseuds/mochibun
Summary: this is the recipe of lifesaid my motheras she held me in her arms as i weptthink of those flowers you plantin the garden each yearthey will teach youthat people toomust wiltfallrootrisein order to bloom— rupi kaur,the sun and her flowersThey joked that Hyrule was born in the middle of a field, that he sprung up out of nowhere to take on the world. What they did not realize was that he had a mother who taught him how to do so.Or; Navi raises Hyrule. Things spiral wildly from there.
Relationships: Four & Hyrule & Legend & Sky & Time & Twilight & Warriors & Wild & Wind (Linked Universe), Hyrule & Legend (Linked Universe), Hyrule & Time (Linked Universe), Hyrule & Twilight (Linked Universe), Hyrule & Wild (Linked Universe), Link & Navi (Legend of Zelda), Malon (Legend of Zelda)/Time (Linked Universe)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 445





	1. seeds

**Author's Note:**

> A preface before we begin:
> 
> It's taken me about a month to write this. During that month, I was almost exclusively writing this on the LU Discord, and I just—wow. The amount of support and feedback I received as I live wrote this was tremendous, something so incredible that I still cannot stop smiling when I think about it. It started as one entry in headcanons before spiraling into this, and I can't regret it, not when it's let me connect to so many and helped me make friends in a way I have never been able to before.
> 
> I have never been able to create something as special as writing this is. Undoubtedly, I will write better things in the future. They will be longer. They may be more complex, and they may make me more satisfied. But I don't think anything can compare to the special place this has in my heart, not only because it's actually finished, but writing _this is the recipe of life_ is a journey that has changed me for the better.
> 
> So, for you reading this, whether it's here or when it was being written on Discord: thank you for everything.
> 
> Without further ado, here is _this is the recipe of life._

They joked that Link was born in the middle of a field. Say he was born wild, born free to roam the land, even if he was destiny-bound. It’s not too far from the truth. Link wasn’t ever born, really, in a house that had a wooden door and a white fence to keep out the monsters.

Rather, this was how it went: Link’s mother took him in her arms when there was still blood between her legs, fought for him past every obstacle, and died on the cusp of the forest. The fairies took care of it from there. The joke, well—it was not too far from the truth, that Link was born in a field. More like he was born and raised in a forest instead.

This was what happened: when Link was four and playing in the woods, baby fat clinging to his cheeks and arms and hands, he was trying to catch a fairy. It was only a game of tag, of course. But one thing turned to another, and then suddenly, the game was not so safe anymore—for all the forest had a magical barrier to keep monsters out, there were still monsters inside, too. There were monsters everywhere, in Hyrule (and there were monsters outside, too). When it howled its arrival, most of the fairies that dawdled in his hair fled to go tell the great forest guardian.

Not one fairy remained but her. She stayed, determined and stubborn and something set in her jaw which read of courage. The monster growled and rushed at her, eager for a battle, but the magic at her fingertips did not merely keep it at bay. It pushed it away, and it howled, eager for a challenge. “You will not have him,” she chimed. “This one is mine; I will raise him and I will right my own sins and he will be  _ good, _ and  _ you cannot have him.”  _

She won. This was how Link came under custody of the fairy Navi.

Navi was an odd fairy. She reeked of an older magic than most of them did. The fairies liked to buzz around Link and whisper of the strange things that they’d hear about her as they weaved their sugar magic; “Did you hear of her newest melt down?”

“I hear she destroyed trees!  _ Trees!” _

_ “Quiet, _ you two!”

They liked to gossip about her past. About why she was like this—why her magic spazzed, and when you weren’t careful, nipped at skin. When Navi fluttered, the characteristic sugar magic which followed fairies was not present. Instead, it was like little arcs of lightning, sporadic and dangerous.

That was what the other fairies whispered. Link did not see it.

Link saw this: he saw a mother.

//

When Link was eight and baby fat still clung to his cheeks and arms and hands, he once asked Navi a question. She had been combing his rat’s nest of hair which the other fairies fondly messed up.  “Sugar magic,” she had grumbled, “while pretty, is too thick and sappy to be good for your hair. I have told them this already,” and then she would sigh and blow her hair out of her face. Link had been distracted by his new clothes, he remembered: green and soft like forest moss. Or like shamrock leaves, where the fairies liked to nap on sometimes.

“Mama,” he had said, “thank you for the new clothes, but... why the green?”

Navi had stilled, then, in her combing. Then she had paused and looked at him,  _ really  _ looked at him; she was the size of his thumb and grief was written in every inch of her. She looked at how his tunic was cut a little baggy. How there was a belt strapped across his waist and torso.

Finally, she had said, stiff, “In remembrance.”

“For who?” he’d pressured, then amended his statement. “I mean, of who?”

Her face crumpled, and Link thought,  _ so it was whom and not who I should have used, good to know. _ But Navi then said, “My first child, and the children who lived here.”

“Your  _ what?!”  _ Link yelped. “Mama, you had a child? He—what... what happened to him?”

Navi tugged harshly on his hair, suddenly, nimble fingers caught on a tangle. “Nothing,” she had said finally, trembling, “that I ever want happening to you.”

And that booked the end of the argument.

//

That did not book the end of Link’s thoughts about what Navi had said. Rather, it started it. At night, he would often find himself staring up at the leafy canopy and the starlight that filtered between. _ I had a brother, _ he’d think, giddy. And then he’d frown.  _ I _ had _ a brother. _

It was a sobering thought.

Still, Link couldn’t stop thinking about it. He’d a brother. And—when he—well, how old had he been? Was he older than Link? Had he... been younger than Link?

Was he the reason why Mama had always looked so sad? And why the other fairies called Mama crazy?

Link thought very, very hard about these. He thought about it a lot, more-so than the thoughts of freedom he began to think. More-so than how he longed for the outside world, beyond the magic border of the woods protected by the spirits of lost children. Link was twelve, now, and he figured that was definitely old enough to go out into the world and _ explore. _ He’d always wondered what stars looked like without a filter of leaves to look through.

Navi was his mother. He was sure she would understand—she had always let him be more self sufficient than most. So one night, Link packed his bags, and he had even grabbed his nice pair of shoes that pinched his toes. But—

When he turned to exit the forest, Navi fluttered there.

“Hi Mama,” he said. “I’m gonna go on an adventure—“

“You will not.”

He blinked. This was not how the conversation had usually gone down in his head. “Mama, I’m twelve.”

“You will _ not,” _ she said again. Lightning sparks jumped off her skin. Link gulped, but he tried again.

“Mama,  _ please—” _

“I said  _ no!” _ she shrieked. “You will  _ not  _ cross the border, and you will  _ not  _ leave the woods! Do you  _ hear  _ me, Link?”

“Why?” he asked. “Mama, I’m  _ twelve. _ I’m old enough to explore the world! That’s what you told me in all your stories—the hero was nine when he went out!”

Link thought of his mother when she told those stories. How kind and gentle she was; her voice weaved a melody made of epic poetry and a heroic story of a kokiri who saved the world. Who beat the villain. And he had been  _ nine! _ Easily old enough to go and save the world, so why couldn’t Link do that too? 

Where was the gentle mother who told him these stories?

When Link began to talk about the hero, Mama... stopped. Like she was stuck in amber. But then she began to tremble, and Link continued. “Mama, I’m  _ twelve, _ the hero was  _ nine _ and I know he was sixteen when he defeated the villain but he still did it so why can’t  _ I—” _

“He  _ died!” _

_ What?  _

Everything in Link’s brain came to a screeching halt. “Mama, what?”

“He  _ died,” _ she spat. “The hero  _ died. _ And he was mine. He was _ mine,” _ she sobbed, and she slowly fluttered to the ground before landing in a crumpled, broken heap.

Link’s heart leapt in his throat. “Oh, Mama,” he murmured, reaching out to hold her in his hands.

“He was my child,” she sobbed, and Link had the awful realization that his brother was the hero. And if the story wasn’t true, but it always ended at the hero winning, then—then did that mean his brother... died? “He was my  _ child  _ and I was supposed to protect him and I  _ failed. _

“So don’t,” she cried, “leave the forest. Please stay safe, Link, I can’t lose another one of my children again.” It was quiet in the forest, save for the cicadas chirping and the awful, awful sound of Mama’s sobbing. Like broken chiming. They stayed like that for a while.

Hesitantly, Link said at last, “Mama, I… I can’t.”

She did not stop her sobbing, but her wings fluttered. “I know,” she said. “I know I cannot keep you from your  _ goddess bound destiny,” _ she spat.

Link cradled her in his hands. “Mama, I will not die. I cannot. I have to return home to you.”

“You won’t be able to,” she sobbed, “the children of the forest will not let you back in.”

That gave him pause, but Link licked his lips. “I cannot die,” he repeated, “because I have to return home to you.”

Finally, she made another sound other than the awful sobbing. Navi gave a weak giggle. “Stupid child,” she said, fondly, “of course you would try.”

“I  _ will. _ You taught me the difference.”

//

Navi guided him to the border of the forest. She did not ask him again to stay, nor did she forbid him to go. Instead, she weaved her lightning magic in his hair, threads of it spun like sugar which chimed when the wind blew. “It is my gift,” she said, “it will protect you. I know it will, I’ve had years to make it.”

“How?” he’d asked.

Navi smiled. “A mother’s love will never fail, not when it matters most.” Then she laughed. “Also, you don’t need your fancy shoes.”

Link blushed. “I wasn’t sure if I needed them or not—Mama, _ stop laughing!” _

When they reached the edge of the forest, Link stood, gazing over the land. The grass rippled yellow and brown. The sky had an odd red hue to it. Navi frowned. “It was not like this before,” she said, and Link nodded. The grass had been green and the sky blue in her stories. And yet, he thought the grass was almost like flaxen gold, rippling in the wind—an odd, discordant beauty to the world that he wanted to explore.

“Thank you Mama,” he said. “For—for raising me.” Then hesitantly, he said, “I love you.”

He had never said those words to her—he thought they were most clear in actions, like how Mama always brushed his hair and how he always gathered her favorite flowers when she was asleep. Still, the thought of not telling her this without leaving made him tremble, even if he was uncertain.

Mama softened. When her magic nipped at him, it was like a warm embrace. “I love you too.”

And Link stepped out of the barrier and into the open world.

//

Just because he left the forest did not mean he did not stop thinking about it. It did not mean Link forgot there was a home he had promised to return to. When the Old Man has given him a sword wrought of iron and magic and good deeds, when the dungeon walls enclosed him, when he had to change his clothes from mossy soft to hardened leather—

He did not forget his mother. Navi, who had walked the world before fleeing to the forest, who wove a spell of love and magic in his hair and raised him as one of their own.

He did not forget his brother. The hero, who was supposed to have triumphed, who died alone and scared. Who started his journey  _ younger  _ than Link. Maybe this was why Link began to fight, beyond survival, but to actively attack the monsters of the land.

Because his brother was a kid, and there were still kids, and the world was very dangerous and who was he to not do anything about that? For that, he was recognized. For that, he was chosen, and Link went to save the world.

Slaying Ganon had never felt so much like vengeance.

He was a hero, now. They called him the Hero of Hyrule, and the princess let him live in the castle because he couldn’t quite go home to the woods just yet. And the castle wasn’t quite a home, not with all the nobles who sneered and too grand balls, but the princess understood.

And she became his friend. He had never quite had friends before. It was really exciting.

But there were things that were, well,  _ not  _ exciting. Like the monsters that craved his blood. Or a conspiracy about the very first Princess Zelda, and wow, suddenly he was sixteen and he could also become a  _ fairy  _ and—

Link felt very, very homesick.

He missed the forest. He missed Mama, and her stories. He longed for the warmth of her magic beyond the spell which still lingered, woven into his hair. Link really wished she was here, to witness him grow up and to teach him magical things like how to deal with growing too tall and remedies for the stupid,  _ awful  _ red bumps on his face that popped up.

Most all, Link wished she was there to see him get his  _ very first kiss. _ On the  _ cheek. _ Mama would have known how to deal with that, and she would have been proud of him for being so awesome to deserve a kiss from such a pretty girl.

(And  _ girls. _ Link really missed Mama because girls were so  _ wonderful  _ and Mama could have helped him deal with  _ talking  _ to them.)

And he... grew. The world changed from beyond the woods that he was born in and the stars which he saw through leaves (the unfiltered view was as magical as he’d imagined). Link did not regret leaving, did not regret saving children who reminded him of his brother. He did not regret falling in love with the world and the heartbeat it had.

But he missed Mama.

And then he fell into a portal.

//

His name was Hyrule now, and when he told them of his adventures, they joked that he was born in a field. It was not too far from the truth—Hyrule was born in the wild, that’s for sure.

Beyond that, though, Hyrule was simply just... another hero amongst heroes. He was a hero to Hyrule amongst many heroes of Hyrule. No nobles whispered behind gloved hands of the golden power he possessed. There was none of that out here. Out here, Hyrule was the traveler hero who shouldn’t be allowed to cook (he cooked  _ just  _ fine, thank you very much!). 

It was nice; even if, at some moments, Hyrule did not think himself as good compared to the kinds of stories the others had. Like saving an alternate reality of Hyrule. And then even  _ more  _ adventures on top of that (Legend was, undoubtedly, one of the coolest heroes). Or saving his younger sister and then choosing despite everything else to still rescue the world. And Wind was  _ twelve  _ when he did it!

But it was fine. They even got to visit other worlds, and Hyrule fell in love with the world’s heartbeat all over again. Everyone’s world was so beautiful—green grass and blue skies, like how Mama had told it in her stories.

(He still missed Mama, and still her magic clung to his hair. He wondered what that said about him, about the two of them.)

One day, they arrived in Time’s Hyrule and then Time had his wife (his  _ wife!) _ swept up in his arms. They were laughing and kissing and Warriors was making  _ ewwww  _ noises. Hyrule thought it was lovely. Time’s wife—Malon—ushered them inside the gates of Lon Lon Ranch.

But curiously enough, there was a platter of sugar water sitting in the bushes, iridescent magic coalescing on the surface. It called to him— _ just like it called to other fairies, _ Hyrule realized with a start. There was a glimmer of magic—Hyrule spotted a couple of fairies dancing around the bowl. “Do you collect them?” he asked.

Malon shook her head and laughed, full bellied and whole rounded. Hyrule liked it. He was glad Time had a wife who seemed as lovely as Malon. Her hair reminded him of the two Princess Zeldas (and he wondered if he could live a life like this one too).

“No,” she sighed. “We’re looking for one in particular. It seems impossible, but without closure he—” she stopped herself, shaking her head. “Never mind. Sorry for my ramblings— _ we _ will continue to hope.”

Something in his gut twisted strangely, then, but Hyrule nodded. “I hope you find her,” he said, and then went to go join the others.

//

It was only much, much later in their adventure together did one night Time spill a little about his adventures. They were sitting in front of the campfire, Wild’s bowl of stew hot in their hands, and Time laughed when they asked him for the nth time to spill. “Fine, fine,” he sighed, “I’m sure you boys are dying to know. Well, I started my first adventure when I was nine,” he said.

“Wait, you were  _ younger  _ than me!” Wind said as chatter around the camp began. But Hyrule didn’t hear it. A sudden, strange fear began to grip at his heart.  _ Nine years old. _ Like the hero in Mama’s stories.

“I guess I was,” Time mused. “Now, I was raised by the kokiri, and one of the things about them is that they all had their own fairies. When I was nine, I got mine.”

“What was her name?” Twilight called from across the camp. Hyrule’s knuckles were white from how hard he was clenching his bowl. He had an awful, sinking suspicion—from what Malon said, and from what Time was saying now. And the words that Mama had sobbed so long ago, which still haunted him.

_ Don’t say it, _ Hyrule begged Time.  _ Don’t say her name. _

Time paused, and then he said, “Her name was Navi.”

And Hyrule’s world  _ crashed. _


	2. roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyrule begins to realize he's not as grounded as he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you guys so much for the feedback! <3 It means so much to me (I promise I read the comments, I just suck at answering them). I hope y'all enjoy this update!
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Koytix, who was an absolute madman and actually drew stuff for this fic. I can't describe how many tears I have shed over her incredible art and writing. Love you, Koy! <3

That night, Hyrule looked up at the stars. He could not sleep, after Time’s story. Nor could he stop his racing mind or heart, wild with the possibilities and implications of what the older hero had said. Because if Time’s fairy was Navi—was  _ Mama— _

_ My brother is Time, _ Hyrule thought, trembling.  _ My brother is the hero who was supposed to have lived and died. _ It made his stomach churn, thinking about it; his brother was sixteen when Ganon had killed him. Like a pig to a slaughter.

And—well, Hyrule knew he was only twelve when he had killed Ganon, but.  _ But. _ Mama’s stories had described a seven years long sleep, when his body had grown even if his mind hadn’t quite caught up.

That made Hyrule sick. It meant this: that his brother, that Time (was Time a different version?) was only nine when he died. Not even double digits. Hyrule remembered the pride in his chest roaring at the thought of being ten, and how Mama had flitted around him and crowned him the king of their woods that day.

That night, she’d lulled him to bed with those same stories of the hero. Now, Hyrule wasn’t sure if he could look at it the same way again. How could he fall asleep to the knowledge of his brother’s death?

Hyrule looked at the sky. It was dark, heavy and round with stars and dreams. He knew he himself would not dream that night, but, well. In the forest, Mama had taught him to fall asleep counting the stars instead of sheep, painted the universe on the back of the hand so he had to learn it before he could say _ I know that like the back of my hand. _

He was looking up at the Goddess’ Lyre when the watch rotation had shifted, from first to second—Twilight gave Wild a pat on the back before he headed to sleep—when Hyrule felt the weight of sleep press on his eyelids. Above, the stars twinkled like little fires in the sky.

He wondered what they would feel like in his hands, the magic they had. Would it be the sweet stickiness of sugar magic? Or, maybe, the same lightning breath that Mama had carried? Would their weight feel like dreams or like burdens?

He did not know, because Mama’s stories had never described the stars. He only knew them as the back of his hand, but Hyrule thought he’d like to dream of them. Wild was on second watch. The camp was safe. Thinking could wait for tomorrow.

Hyrule slept.

//

When Hyrule was nine and still lived in the woods, one night he snuck out of the clearing where he slept when Mama had been napping. He had been out gathering her favorite flowers—the ones which the spirits of the forest liked to cultivate—when night had fallen.

He hadn’t been afraid of it. It wasn’t like this was the first time it had happened, but Hyrule had regretted that Mama would probably scold him for being out after hours. Still, it would be worth it to see her face light up. Mama couldn’t quite gather these flowers—she was too small to pick them properly.

He remembered it clearly, how the leaves brushed against his arms, the petals soft and singing a melody. And then he didn’t.

Hyrule walked in the forest, and he was sixteen, not nine, but the forest was exactly how he had remembered it. But the flowers in his arms were not; curiously, they were something not even found in his Hyrule. It was only in the land of the wild where they bloomed.

Hyrule remembered them—Wild has shown them, once, as they had been looking through his Sheikah slate. “It’s a silent princess,” he said, “a rare flower that grows.”

“Cool,” Hyrule has said, and then he’d placed one behind Wild’s ear since he’d seen Wild do that with wildflowers before. Strangely, Wild has flushed red and mumbled thank you before snatching back his slate.

But he remembered them—and they were in his arms now, white-blue and glowing in the moonlight. They sang a song of wind, of chiming. The world did not feel right. Hyrule began to walk home, and the path twisted.

He tried to go off path.

Once, when Hyrule was nine and still lived in the forest, one night he snuck out of the clearing he slept in to pick Mama’s favorite flowers. It was last night he did. The moment he went off path, the monsters of the forest began to roam; the children of the forest had created a boundary to keep all the evils of the world out.

They could not do anything for the evil already there, rooted deep in the earth’s beating heart.

Hyrule did not die that night. It was only by lucky chance did Navi wake up, and oh, how the forest shook with the weight of her anger. The great trees shook with the fury of a mother’s love for their child. Navi has cast the monsters away.

“You will not harm my son again, I will not let you touch a single hair on his head,” she had snarled. Then she had forbade Hyrule to ever go out at night off trail again. But this time, Hyrule was sixteen, and he had not been home in a very, very long time.

And the monsters swallowed him up.

It was not the first time Hyrule had these kinds of nightmares, of what if’s and could have beens. He'd had plenty of those, with the last time he had seen his mother, but when he had these kinds of nightmares, he knew he could not sleep. H e awoke with a gasp, heaving and sweaty, and the spell of protection Navi had woven in his hair hummed with magic. He knew what that meant—quickly, he scrambled out of his roll, reaching for his sword.  _ Monsters! _

_ Wasn’t there supposed to be a watch?  _ Hyrule lamented. His chest was heaving and he was sweaty from his sleep still, but Hyrule scanned the area for danger. Their camp was dead asleep to the world, and the fire had nearly died, only the embers remaining. And then—there!

It was a bokoblin. It blinked curiously before its eyes landed on him, and then Hyrule swung his sword.

The bokoblin gave a shriek. Hyrule thought that would be enough to wake the camp, but there was an eerie, oppressive silence that deafened the rapid beating of his heart. His sword connected, but it was not enough.

Still, the monster was wounded. But there was black blood on his blade—?

Stunned, Hyrule did not notice the heavy club heading for his shins; he fell down and hissed in pain.  _ Crap! _ That was going to leave a bruise, but that was the least of his worries. Suddenly, the bokoblin was on top of him, the club raised over its head.

_ Is this how I’m going to die? _ Hyrule thought, panic bubbling in his chest. The bokoblin gave a squeal before—

_ Thunk! _

The monster snarled, but it was too late— _ thunk! Thunk! _ It happened too fast, but Hyrule saw it: the arrows that embedded themselves into the monster’s skull, right before it slumped and then crumbled into purple malice, dead. There were much more than he expected.

Hyrule lay there, panting and wheezing. There was only one person in their crew of motley heroes that could shoot like that. He turned his head and there stood Wild at the edge of camp, bow and arrow in his hands. A pile of logs sat at his feet, and Hyrule realized he probably went off to go rekindle the fire. There was a dangerous look in his eyes, and Hyrule was reminded of the look a predator gave its prey.

“Thank you,” he rasped. “I—sorry, I know, it’s kind of pathetic to fall to a bokoblin.” _Come on, Link,_ he chided himself in his head, _a bokoblin? Really?_ "I’m—I know I’m not talented at much.”

Wild frowned, then, and shook his head, crossing the camp to where Hyrule was laying. For a brief moment, terror ran in his veins, making him seize up and freeze—what would Wild do to him? But he dropped his bow and arrow into the dirt and held out a hand for Hyrule to take. “Survival is a talent,” he said, simply, and for a moment the fire shone bright enough to illuminate his scars.

Hyrule took his hand. This was how Wild became Hyrule’s best friend.

//

When everyone was up the next day, Hyrule hesitantly brought up the attack last night—specifically, the black blood. “It’s weird,” he confessed, “I haven’t ever seen anything quite like it.”

The black blood had crusted on his blade, by then, but everyone in their crew gathered around it anyway. “Weird,” Wind agreed, and then went back to packing their supplies (Hyrule figured it was because Wind probably knew no one else would).

“And you said it took how many arrows to down it?” Twilight asked Wild, who frowned.

“Eight. I normally need _ two.” _

At that, Warriors sucked in a breath. “Does this mean the monsters are... getting stronger?”

Nobody answered him. Nobody  _ wanted  _ to answer him, too afraid of the answer. The rest of the morning was spent in oppressive silence as they packed their things for the road.

It did not mean the whole day was like that, thankfully. Halfway through, Wind had somehow tricked Four into tricking  _ Legend  _ to steal Warriors’ scarf, which had, hilariously, resulted in Sky wearing Warriors’ scarf like his sailcloth for the rest of the day and vice versa. It looked pretty good on him, and Sky was gracious enough to be a good sport about it.

Well. Provided nothing happened to his treasured sailcloth. Warriors agreed, adding the same stipulation for Sky, and Wind took an incredible amount of pictographs. Which, in fact, was incredibly curious; Hyrule had never seen anything like it.

“So it takes—images? Paintings?” Hyrule asked. And maybe he was also asking so it was less time spent wondering (and avoiding) Time.

Wind nodded. “Yeah! Isn’t it so cool—although I think Wild’s got better quality or whatever, but I think mine are a lot nicer. It can actually print out stuff.”

Hyrule didn’t exactly get what ‘printing’ was, so he let Wind explain. “That’s really cool,” he said, and Wind nodded.

“Of course it is.”

By late afternoon, they’d walked through much of the land—which Legend had claimed was his Hyrule, although they weren’t even near Castletown, which was odd—before deciding to stop for the night. “Let’s set up camp here,” Time called. “Wild, Wind, set up for dinner. Warriors, Legend, Twilight, please clear out any monsters. Four and Sky, set up camp.”

Suddenly, there was a pit in Hyrule’s stomach.  _ Oh no. _

“Hyrule, you’re with me,” Time said. “Let’s take a walk.”

Hyrule gulped, but followed Time. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, anyway. Time led them outside camp and into the forest. “We’ll be gathering the kindling for the fire,” he explained. Hyrule nodded, jittery.

“Yup! Haha, sounds good!”

Even to him, his voice sounded panicked. Internally, he winced. _ Yikes. _ Thankfully, Time didn’t talk about it, and they worked in a companionable (if awkward) silence.

That was until Time said, “Did... I make you upset?”

Hyrule nearly dropped the log he was holding in his hands. It was good sized and dry, but his hands were trembling too much to get a proper grip on it. He looked at Time, whose back was to him—he looked solemn, standing there like that.

“Wh...what do you mean?” he asked. He tried to tell his hands to stop shaking.  _ Stupid,  _ Hyrule told himself,  _ you made him worry and now he knows that you know something or feel some way about him. Idiot, _ he chided.

Time paused, and then he spoke again. “I... noticed that as I talked, you became very... withdrawn. It was why I wanted for us to be alone so I could talk to you about it—are you okay, Hyrule?”

_ Okay? _ How could Hyrule respond to that? How did someone say  _ probably not because that gave me the clue that you’re actually my mama’s dead son _ and then say they were okay? Hyrule gulped, palms sweaty.

“I... I’m fine. I swear.”

“Are you sure?” Time pressured. “Look, Hyrule, I’ll be the first to admit it, my adventure isn’t easy to hear about. A lot of people left me, my fairy included. I get that it can hit hard.”

Hyrule stopped listening beyond that. _ Navi—Mama...  _ left?

It was too much. It was all too much.

“I said I’m  _ fine, _ Time!” Hyrule snapped. He threw down the log that he’d picked back up onto the ground. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. Okay? Capisce?” And then he turned on his heel and left. He couldn’t do this anymore. How could he be there any longer when all he could think about was  _ Time dying _ or  _ Mama abandoning Time? _

(Never mind the fact that he had abandoned Time there in the dying sunlight, who, very, very quietly, began to tremble.)

//

It was later that night when Twilight approached Hyrule. He had his arms crossed over his chest and looked like he was going to shout at him, even if his footsteps were very quiet as the rest of camp slept. The fire had died earlier than usual, today, because there hadn’t been enough kindling to keep it going, so Hyrule had volunteered for the first watch while Twilight had gone to go fetch the wood.

But now, he stood, imposing in his height. Hyrule began to feel himself sweat. He knew how Twilight felt about Time—all of them did, and besides, it wasn’t like Hyrule didn’t lack  _ eyes. _ He saw the familial sort of relationship they had—the fatherly affection Time carried for Twilight.

Stupidly, jealously, Hyrule wished he and Time could be brothers. But that wasn’t something quite possible, now. Or, really, ever.

Twilight surveyed him for a minute, and then asked, “What did you say to Time?”

Hyrule gulped. “Why are you asking?”

Twilight frowned. “We’re supposed to be a team, and especially with all this monster nonsense going around, we can’t afford to have squabbling between us all. So.  _ What did you say to Time?” _

Something ugly reared its head in Hyrule’s chest. That wasn’t the only reason why Twilight was asking, and they both knew it. “What’s it matter to you, anyways?”

“Didn’t I tell you already? I  _ said—“ _

“The  _ real  _ reason, Twi!” Hyrule snapped. “What’s the  _ real  _ reason you want to know? Go on, say it!”

There was a heavy silence in the clearing, marked only by the crackling of the campfire. And then, very quietly, Twilight said, “Time’s upset, and it’s because of something you said. He’s been through enough already, so  _ what did you do?” _ There was a dangerous light in his eyes—but maybe it was just a trick of the firelight.

Hyrule shook. The ugly beast in his chest had reared its head, again, and it made Hyrule feel too hot and itchy. “I knew it,” he said quietly. “I knew that was why you were asking.”

“So?” Twilight challenged. “What if it is? You haven’t answered my question. Tell me, Hyrule,  _ what did you say to him that hurt him?” _

“None of your business,” Hyrule said. He clenched his fists, fingernails making little crescent indents in the palm of his hand. “It is none of your business, and you don’t need to know what I said.”

Twilight snarled, and in the firelight, it was almost inhuman. “Fine,” he said,  _ “fine. _ Be like that, Hyrule,  _ be  _ what causes a rift in our camp. There’s things much more important than whatever issue you have with Time—hell, you should know, you were the one who brought it up in the first place—”

There was a weight in Hyrule’s throat, and the great, ugly beast in his stomach roared. Hyrule snapped.  _ “Can it, _ Twi,” he said, “I know Time’s the father you’ve wanted, but he  _ doesn’t need you _ fighting his own battles.”

Immediately after he said so, Hyrule regretted it—but the damage was done. Twilight took a step back, stunned, and then his face twisted up. “Fine,” he said. “Okay,  _ fine.” _

_ Wait, _ Hyrule wanted to call out.  _ Wait, Twilight, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, _ but the words couldn’t go past his throat. This time, Hyrule transferred the watch over to Legend, who gave him an affectionate if gruff pat and told him to get some sleep.

Hyrule knew he wouldn’t sleep that night. The ugly beast roaring in his chest was much, much too loud for him to ever fall asleep now. He laid curled up in his bedroll, the hard earth against his back, and stared up at the stars.

He could not remember the ones Mama pointed out, because the skies were not the same. He did not have the night sky memorized, because it was not the same as his own. Hyrule found that he could not know anything like the back of his hand, because there was nothing familiar at all—and this time, there was no fairy to help him confront the truth of his existence.

The sky was dark, heavy and round with stars and dreams. Mama had taught him to fall asleep counting the stars instead of sheep, and Hyrule had always wondered what they would feel like in his hands. Would they be sweet and sticky like sugar magic? The lightning breath of magic that was Mama’s? Would their weight feel like dreams or like burdens? Now, Hyrule thought he knew for sure what the answer was—the answer was in the weight that lied in his throat, too heavy and too much to let him talk.

The magic spell of protection she had weaved four years ago still sat on his head, burning with her lightning breath and warmth. It rested on his brow, a crown heavy with love and memories of lighter times. Not for the first time, Hyrule wondered if he really should have left the forest to become a hero, or if he was really a hero at all.

No hero, after all, would be too cowardly to confront their fears.

He wished Mama was there. Mama could help guide him to the right answer—Hyrule had always been a self sufficient child, but for once, he wished for her guidance. But she was not there, because she was back at home in the forest, waiting for him to fulfill a promise made years ago.

And she was not there, and Hyrule wept for his lost childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! next update should be out next tuesday.


	3. sprouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyrule is in over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's dedicated to Anourth, aka the lovely [htrouna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/htruona/pseuds/htruona). Thank you for watching me cry as I wrote this and cry along with me. I love you!

He did not sleep that night, although Hyrule suspected that most no one would after such a conversation. Even when the watch shifted once more, from Legend to Warriors, Hyrule still could not sleep. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him, and he resigned himself to watching the lightening sky and the stars disappearing.

Finally, when it was nearing dawn, Hyrule had enough. He cast off his blanket quietly, as to not disturb anyone around him (and Warriors had accidentally fallen asleep on watch, so it was good that Hyrule didn't sleep), and surveyed the surroundings. His fingers were itching to do something—he didn't exactly know what, but sitting idle had never been one of his strong suits. It was something that he’d been teased about back in the forest; Mama had always ruffled his hair fondly when he was up before the sun, bouncing around with the intent to explore or run amongst the wild. Later, when he was older, she would tease him about the endless energy he seemed to have.

He stood up and headed toward the cooking pot—dawn's rosy fingers began to light up the land. That was when inspiration struck, and he nodded to himself—he'd prove himself a good cook today. Hyrule  _ could _ cook. He would prove to everyone that he could, so he looked about the forest. There was a mushroom here and a curious little plant there that, when cut into, produced a syrup that was sugary light on the tongue.

Hyrule knew these things, for Mama had taught him—she had led him into the forest one day and said,  _ these are things which you ought to know, _ and she then told him that one of those plants was peculiarly liked by the children of the forests. She taught him that red veins meant either rhubarb or something not so nice. Now, Hyrule used what she had taught him so long ago—the disappearing stars as his map, the back of his hand as his hitchhiker's guide to this new, confusing universe.

When he came back, arms laden with both items dubious and also not, Hyrule gently placed them on the cleanest surface he could manage. Campfire cooking was interesting, and he wasn't exactly sure of what he could manage with it—most of his adventure had been fire-less, in fear of attracting monsters. He struck a fire with a spare match and lit it underneath the pot, and then realized he should go get something to cook with.

And then—there! Wild's handy wooden spoon that was carved by Sky.  _ Nice, _ Hyrule thought to himself; Mama would have adored the delicate patterning on the handle. Leaves, berries, and vines curled around the wooden pole. He hefted it in his hand—it had a nice weight to it, and Hyrule could see why Wild loved using it to cook.

He turned to the pot. He was sure it was hot enough to cook something—carefully, he tossed in one of the plants he was sure it was edible (in fact, he'd eaten a part of it to make sure) and watched it sizzle when it hit the pot. Hyrule poked it with the ladle, taking care not to burn it. It  _ smelled  _ good, too—he figured it was about cooked when the sides had browned to a nice gold.

Then Hyrule tried to scrape it off the pot's surface and he  _ couldn’t  _ and a pit in his stomach formed. He'd forgotten to grease the surface of the pot. The plant began to burn, and the scent turned acrid, and a dizzy panic rose within him.

_ Crap, _ Hyrule thought, because he'd not only made such a stupid mistake but also the smell was sure to wake the other Links. And probably make them panic. And probably, somehow, inevitably lead them to making fun of him, which was the  _ last  _ thing Hyrule wanted. "No, no,  _ no," _ Hyrule whispered underneath his breath, and began to frantically scrape at the burning plant. "Get  _ off!" _

The only way this situation could turn  _ worse  _ was if somehow, the plant caught on  _ fire. _ Hyrule wouldn't put that option aside. Stupid divine comedic humor—the smell was definitely awful, now, and Hyrule's nose wrinkled at it. Thankfully, Wild's wooden spoon seemed no less worse.

"Come on," Hyrule said again, "please, I can't—"

"Uh... Hyrule...?" someone said hesitantly.

Hyrule whirled around, startled, and there stood the cook himself.  _ Oh, man, _ Hyrule thought,  _ I'm  _ totally  _ in trouble now. _ And somehow, even though the plant hadn't set itself on fire yet, the situation had  _ still  _ worsened. Hyrule gave an awkward smile, and very fast, said, "I'msorryI'mnotcommittingarsonI _ swear—" _

"Breathe, Hyrule," Wild said. His voice seemed flat, but somehow, Hyrule found his shoulders relaxing. "It's not a big deal, I was just... wondering why there was smoke. And why it smelled so bad."

Stupidly, his face crumpled. Maybe they were right after all. Maybe he shouldn't cook, if it turned out like this. "I was trying to make... breakfast," he said quietly. "I just wanted to prove that I could cook, but I forgot to grease the pan, I'm— _ goddesses," _ he said. "Sorry, Wild, I might have ruined your pot."

Wild frowned. "No? It's not a big deal," he said, and then kicked some dirt on the fire to smother it.  _ Well there goes the fire, _ Hyrule thought. It was kind of a funny thought. Wild peered into the pot, and hummed. "It's not that bad, honestly. I mean"—Wild reached  _ straight into the boiling-hot pot and scraped off the plant, _ what the heck—"it's better than what I've done."

Hyrule stared, mildly horrified. Then, "Wild, people don't just reach into pots that are burning hot."

Wild shrugged. "Whatever, I have permanent nerve damage. Anyway, it's not even that bad—I did worse, and honestly, all the stuff you've got is pretty good. You know how to cook in that noggin of yours, I know that."

A spark of hope began to light itself in Hyrule's chest. It was stupid, maybe, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "...really?"

"Really. Tell you what, you can cook today, but if you need anything from me, just let me know—like, I have goat butter in my slate if you need to grease the pan."

Hyrule blinked, surprised. "Why are you letting me do this? I mean, cooking's your thing, right? And aren't you worried I'll mess it up?"  _ Like I always do, _ he thought, and frowned. No, those thoughts were not thoughts he would entertain today. Wild blinked, slowly, like he was surprised Hyrule might suggest a thing.

"It's not just mine," he said, "and besides. Cooking brings people together." Then Hyrule found a slab of goat butter pressed into his hand, and when he went to call for Wild to say thank you, Wild had already passed back out. When they had breakfast that day and everyone complimented Wild, he merely smiled and shrugged in that elegant fashion of his, and jerked his head toward Hyrule.

"Thank the cook," he said, and Hyrule smiled.

//

He felt much better today than he'd ever had since that fateful revelation, thanks to Wild's simple if unusual support. As they began trekking, Hyrule found himself talking more than he had the previous days—he talked to Four about his life as a smith, which turned to Four and Legend talking about awful customer requests they'd gotten. And then  _ that  _ had led to Warriors butting in about his time as a postman, and then Hyrule and Warriors had talked about crazy requests, and then Sky had butted in about his own stories.

It was, to say the least, a crazy if lighthearted day. (He ignored Twilight's staring and Time's lingering gazes. He was not going to talk to them. Not after yesterday, that was for sure.)

Suddenly, Warriors stiffened. "Wait," he said, voice so soft that Hyrule paused. The other Links quieted, too, upon hearing Warriors. The nine of them stood on the path, waiting. Listening.

Hyrule searched. He could hear the rustling of trees and the babbling of a brook nearby; he shared a glance with Wild whose eyebrows were furrowed. "Something isn't right," he said, and Hyrule agreed.

"I don't see or hear anything out of place," Sky said, and Hyrule realized he could not hear the world's heartbeat.

"You're right— _ too _ right. There's no noise," Hyrule whispered over the pounding of his heart. 

And then the monsters attacked.

Time gave a warning shout—"Monsters, brace yourself!"—but they had already fallen into formation. Wild separated immediately at the start of combat, knowing that he worked the least best in groups. Warriors, too, followed—the mass destruction he could cause worked best alone. 

Hyrule narrowed his eyes. Crap—a moblin and ten tektites. Tektites weren't  _ awful  _ to deal with, but moblins could get nasty in closed spaces. He glanced at Time and Twilight, who, with Legend, had teamed up to take down the moblin. That left him with the tektites.

He broke away from the group, too, and swung the great silver sword which the Old Man had given to him—its weight was heavy in his hand, a burden and a blessing to bear. Its holy light gleamed, and the tektite dodged; Hyrule kicked dirt into the tektite's face and slashed—

It hit, and black blood came away on his sword. Hyrule hissed in surprise.  _ What the hell? _

The tektite lunged again, and Hyrule, in his panic, thrust his sword clean through the monster. It screeched and wailed and he turned on his heel, slamming it down into the dirt—! The monster gave one last screech before it dispersed into purple clouds. It was harder to beat that monster than it should have been, he thought, worrying his lip.

Black blood and stronger monsters. Warriors had been right yesterday. And if his monster was infected, then who was to say his was the only one? Panicked, Hyrule looked around, trying to find the moblin and the heroes who were fighting them—no luck. He swallowed the rising terror in his throat and began to get rid of the rest of the tektites.

Over the chaos, someone shouted, "The monsters are  _ stupid  _ strong, the hell?" He was sure it was Warriors—no one cussed quite like their captain did.

"It's the blood!" Hyrule called back. "They're infected! They're all infected! The moblin has to be so too—" he ducked underneath a swipe, gasping for air, "—the others are in trouble!"

"They're heroes, though," Sky called. For a moment, Hyrule envied him—with his precision and the grace (both mortal and divine) that he carried, it seemed like he had the easiest time dealing with the tektites. Sky had slain three while the rest of them were still struggling. Even still, he seemed like he was slowing. His breaths were shorter, now, and he looked like he was on the verge of coughing. "Have faith in them!"

"I do," Hyrule said, "that's exactly why I'm scared." The tektite he was facing growled and lunged at him, but Hyrule kicked dust and dirt into its face and pinned it to the ground with his sword. It howled and dispersed, and the six of them finally managed to get rid of the tektites.

But still, it didn't solve the problem of the moblin—Hyrule looked around wildly, trying to find their missing heroes, until Wind shouted,  _ "Look out!" _

And there—soaring in the sky—was Twilight, who was falling down like a shooting star. Blood was running down his face, and terrified, Hyrule thought,  _ he might die. _ Someone gave a shout.  _ "Shit, _ someone  _ catch him! _ Some of you, follow me, I see the moblin," and Warriors, Wind, and Sky took off. Wild and Four and Hyrule remained, and the three of them watched Twilight fall.

Hyrule trembled, and he thought of the last words he said to Twilight. No—no, he could not let Twilight die. He  _ wouldn't. _ Not when he still had so much to say, not when he had yet to say he was  _ sorry— _

He thrust his hand out in front of him, and an electric feeling rushed to his fingers. A dizzyness rose within him and he thought  _ I will not let this happen, I will stop him. _ What was that feeling he had when he cast the Jump spell? Like air, like light, buoying him up to the sky and through the clouds—but condensed, but softer—

Improbably, somehow, Twilight slowed down just before he crashed.

Four started first, heading straight toward Twilight. "He's alive," he said, "he's—he's  _ alive,  _ just unconscious. I—I don't know how, but—never mind," he said, licking his lips.

Wild looked like he just came down from an emotional high. There were tears budding at the corner of his eyes, but he didn't bother wiping them away; he let them fall. "Thank the goddesses," he murmured, "thank the goddesses."

And Hyrule stared at his hand, wondering of what he'd just done—the lightning magic was warm, still, even if it had fizzled out. But he remembered the feeling—of how malleable it had seemed in his hand, how it could change and expand or shrink however he wanted it. His magic had never been like that before, and Hyrule feared the answer.

It had always been sugar magic—the magic which followed fairies, the magic which healed with feather-light kisses and attracted sweet, good things. What had changed? He worried his bottom lip again, and glanced at the others. Did they see him? No, they shouldn't have had—and he realized he couldn't tell them about his magic.

The very thought of their reactions made him dizzy with panic. No—not when his magic was changing, becoming something he did not even recognize. He could not let them depend on his magic if he himself couldn't trust it. He looked at Twilight, whose face was crumpled in pain, and sighed in relief. "He'll be fine, right...?"

"He'll be fine," Four said. But he looked worried, and Hyrule feared the answer until Four started again, "I'll stay and watch over him. If that moblin did this to Twilight, then—you both need to go help the others. I'll be fine. Promise."

"Are you sure," Wild said, "I don't mind staying, Four—"

_ "Go!" _

So they did. Hyrule looked toward the back of his hand for guidance, imagining the path to there; the protective spell Mama had cast sat like a crown on his head. He could do this.  _ They _ could do this. Wild and him followed the path to the moblin. It was easy—there was a trail of destruction left in the wake, and soon they were upon the moblin and the other five heroes facing it down. All of them looked worse for wear—there was a nasty cut on Wind's cheek and most of Time's armor looked dented, not to mention a couple more. Wild gave a shout and they rushed in.

So they danced again—the longer the battle dragged on, the more worried Hyrule became. They were slowing down, and every time the moblin swung its great club, there was a higher chance of them getting hit by it. Time's Biggoron sword did the most damage, and Warriors landed the most hits on the monster. But it was not enough.

It was not enough to stop the next swing of the monster, who let out a mighty roar. It hefted its club high above its head and swung downwards in a deadly arc—right for Legend, the hero who had been battling the longest besides Time. Legend, who was exhausted beyond belief and looked dead on his feet. Legend, who was gruff and a little snarky, but all the same still told Hyrule  _ good job. _

No, Hyrule thought, terror in him once again.  _ No, no, no! _

"LEGEND!" Sky shouted. There was a grace about him, not wholly mortal, and he held it in his hands. And yet, this was the most human he’d ever seemed. "LEGEND,  _ MOVE!" _

But Legend swayed on his feet, deaf to the world and unable to move out of the Moblin's swing.

_ No, _ Hyrule thought. His sword was in his hands, the silver gleam untarnished by the black blood.  _ No, I will not let anything happen to him, I cannot let anything happen to him. _ He thought of Mama, and the promise he made to her—that he would come back home, and thought,  _ Mama, my home is changing. _

It was a terrifying thought to think: that perhaps his home did not lay so much in the forest now, but instead, with eight other heroes. It was a terrifying thought, but not as much as what was happening now. Watching what was happening felt like terror, too thick and awful to move through. Everyone stood petrified, unable to act, unable to  _ move.  _

Wasn't that why he had left the forest in the first place? To act? To  _ explore? _ It was as if the world was in slow motion, but Hyrule stepped forward, one foot after another.  _ Hurry,  _ he urged himself,  _ hurry! _

And Hyrule stepped forward, and forward, and he threw his hand out, unsure of if he was reaching for Legend or shoving him out of the way.

And it was like time resumed again; the other heroes stepped forth because they, too, were heroes. And if there was one constant about heroes, it was the acting: the inability to stay still and let injustice happen. But sometimes, heroes did not come in time.

It did not matter, because Hyrule would make himself close enough to reach Legend on time. The moblin club came arcing, down, down, down, and Hyrule thought,  _ I am terrified and I am scared but I will save Legend, I will, I  _ will. There was nothing except the white noise deafening him to everything else, cotton in between his ears and clouding his thoughts; he could not even think of a spell to cast. 

It was only a want, only just the feeling of _ take the club away, knock it away, knock it off course get him out of danger. _ And the breath of nature, of lightning-thunder-storm changed in his hands, from malleable and soft to so white-hot and bright it was blinding. And in the same motion that the moblin swung its club, Hyrule swung both his sword and let himself wish for once to be selfish.

(Magic is a fickle thing. There are many creatures in Hyrule which know of it, but fewer are those who know how to use it. Even fewer still are those who know how to change it, the ones who know it is not just the sweet sugar magic of fairies but much, much more.

Hyrule was raised by the fairy Navi, and once upon a time, before him, there was another child. He was blonde and blue eyed and liked running around the forest in the same manner he liked playing the ocarina with his friends. He was Navi's first child, and sometimes, he was known as the Hero of Time.

But to Navi, he was Link, her fallen son. And she was not there for him when he had fallen, and that had changed her from the once-sweet sugar magic she had to something else. To something more desperate, from beyond healing and guidance to something capable to change the story.

Navi was a fairy, and fairies knew how to use magic. Most fairies did not know how to change it, but Navi wanted and wished so desperately that she crafted a spell that would change a story. It had taken her many years to do so, and by then, she wasn't quite the same, driven only by her love for her lost child.

There was a certain magic in a mother's love, and Hyrule was Navi's second child, and she loved him all the same. He was not Link, and had brown hair instead of blonde, but he was  _ hers.  _ So she cast her protection onto him, and the story changed.)

There was a moment of suspense, before the club went soaring beyond the moblin's hand and Legend and fell to the side instead. The moblin blinked, surprised, but that did not matter. In the next moment, Wind took his sword and threw it straight into the moblin's head. "YOU LEAVE MY FRIENDS  _ ALONE," _ he shouted, and in the same moment, Time had swung his great Biggoron sword straight into the beast's belly.

It gave a roar, and then a whimper. And then it simply fell down, dead, dissipating into purple malice and leaving Time and Wind's bloody swords behind. There was a brief moment of silence in the clearing, before Wind whooped.

"We won! We  _ did it!" _

At that, there was a sigh of relief and the reverie which had swept across the clearing was broken—Warriors patted Wind on the back while Sky had crossed the clearing to check up on Legend. "Are you okay?" he worried, "you should rest, really."

"I'm fine," Legend said, but he allowed Sky's help all the same. He threw a glance to Hyrule as Sky began talking about how irresponsible he'd been, and mouthed  _ thank you, hero. _

_ Hero, _ Legend had said. Hyrule was a hero. A warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach grew, and Hyrule grinned back at Legend.  _ Anytime. _

//

Later, when night had settled and they had found a good place to rest up, Warriors was describing the fight to Four. "The beast swung its club at Legend, but suddenly, Hyrule showed up and there was a  _ bright _ flash of light—"

_ What? _ Hyrule thought. He licked his lips as Four oohed and aahed out of obligation, and said, "What do you mean, Warriors?" What he meant, though, was  _ did they see my magic? _ No, they couldn't have. He hoped they didn't, not when it wasn't dependable.

"What do I mean?" Warriors said, pausing. "Well, I mean, you swung your sword and knocked the club out of the moblin's hands, didn't you?"

Hyrule breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh. Yeah, that, haha— _ super _ crazy, yeah..."

He set aside his dinner, suddenly too nervous to eat. As Warriors continued to tell the story (with interjections from Sky to exaggerate, because Warriors seemed to be telling it pretty straight laced), Hyrule stared at the camp. The events of the day seemed to hit him—they were alive. All of them were alive.

And they were his home, maybe, and he was trying to figure out the answer to that one, but—he  _ could. _ Because he was  _ alive.  _ He let out a sigh of relief, and euphoria buoyed within him.

He was so distracted with relief, in fact, that he did not notice Time's contemplative stare, nor how Wild kept on looking at him throughout dinner.

//

As they were setting up for the night and debating about who should be on watch, Hyrule found himself, inexplicably, face to face with Time. Understandably, he nearly panicked.

"Hey," Time said, "good job today. Especially with the moblin—I saw," he added. Hyrule offered a weak smile.

"Thanks," he said, and made to move past Time so he could go set up his roll. As he retreated, however, he heard Time say, "Wait—Hyrule?"

He paused. "Yeah?"

"I... know yesterday may have been uncomfortable for you. I'm sorry if I added to that. I just—" he paused, like he was trying to say something and couldn't quite find the words, "I just want you to know that I'm always open if you need to tell me something."

Hyrule stood there. The night had begun to rise, stars flickering into existence like little fires. "I know, Time," he said softly.  _ I know, brother.  _ "Thank you."

"Anytime."

Hyrule wasn't actually going to tell him anything, of course. Because how did someone tell them all about their abandoned mother and how they were his dead brother? No—Hyrule much rather preferred to keep that to himself. He looked up at the night sky, and saw that it heavy with dreams and darkness, and thought he was okay being like this.

He was about to go to sleep when someone spoke. "Hyrule," Wild said softly, and Hyrule may or may not have let out a tiny shriek. By  _ Hylia, _ why was Wild so quiet?

"I wasn't being quiet," Wild said, and startled, Hyrule realized he was speaking out loud. "Think your head's just in the clouds," he continued, and then he gave a snort of laughter. "Kinda like my Zelda, sometimes."

"...really?"

"Yeah. I think... I think you and her would get along. Both of you like pokin' around at stuff."

"And you don't?" Hyrule teased, and Wild blinked, surprised, before he laughed.

"Nah. I want to settle down—got a nice home in Hateno," he hummed, "like... Time and Miss Malon? I want that, one day.”

Hyrule thought about it. He thought about the life Wild talked about, and his home which he had shown them when they visited his Hyrule. He thought of the great apple tree which stood in Wild’s backyard, bright and ruby red, which he plucked for the village children when they wanted it. He thought of Cottla and Koko, the children Wild sleep-talked about fondly.

Hyrule thought about that and thought of his princesses back home, who had bright and pretty smiles that seemed to light up the world.

"Yeah," Hyrule said. "I think I get it."

They sat there like that, looking and drinking in the stars and the night sky—Wild pointed out the Cow-Spit Pearl constellation, and Hyrule showed him The Loftwing's Nest. And the cicadas chirped in the night, and he thought,  _ this is what home used to feel like _

And then Wild said, "What was that about, today?"

Hyrule, sleepy with dreams and questions of the stars, frowned. "Hm? What do you mean?"

"I mean the stuff that you did. The magic."

Immediately, Hyrule snapped wide awake.  _ No.  _ "What do you mean?" he said, "Haha, Wild, you're so _ funny.  _ Stop joking."

But Wild frowned and blinked slowly in that odd way of his. "No, you did magic, I'm sure of it—it certainly felt like it, at least."

Hyrule began to shake. "No, I didn't. What magic? I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Hyrule," Wild interrupted, "I'm just asking. I don't want to back you into a corner. If you want me to stop, then  _ tell  _ me,  _ stop." _

Hyrule did not stop trembling, but he frowned. "Why do you need me to tell you directly to stop?" he said, and Wild frowned, shrugging.

"I don't get being subtle. It's—ugh. It's hard and it's  _ stupid, _ why would anyone need to be subtle? It just makes more problems. I like being more upfront... but I know that's not the best way to approach things, sometimes." Very carefully, Wild brought up a hand to his face—the scarred side—and Hyrule understood.

"Hey," he said, and Wild turned to look at him. "Survival's a talent, remember?"

Wild threw back his head and gave a snort of ugly laughter. It sounded like music to Hyrule's ears. "My own words, huh? Alright, that's fair. But, Hyrule, my question... do you  _ want _ me to ask? Is it—is that  _ alright?" _ Funny enough, he looked panicked, as if he didn't quite know how to deal with delicate situations or to process emotions—his or anyone else's.

Hyrule thought about it, and sighed. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I... I think I want to talk about it. You're right... it's magic."

He hadn't stopped his trembling still, even though there was a great weight lifted off his shoulders by saying that, and Wild noticed. "Hyrule, you're still shaking."

"I am?" he said, confused; Wild reached out to comfort him and he panicked. "No, wait,  _ don't—" _

He panicked, and he wanted Wild to not touch him. Lightning magic began to crackle underneath his fingertips, but before it could shape itself into something else, Wild withdrew, eyes wide. "'Rule," he said, "what... was that?"

This was exactly what Hyrule was afraid of: the lack of control, the lack of dependency. He buried his face into his knees, and he still did not stop shaking. "Magic," he said.

Wild gave a little frown. “Hyrule,” he said, hesitantly; his hand hovered over Hyrule’s shoulder. “I don’t think that’s normal.”

_ No, _ Hyrule wanted to say,  _ and so isn’t little boys being raised by fairy mothers, but look at where we are. _ But that wouldn’t help anyone. Instead, he shook off the latent sugar magic dusting his shoulders. “It happens sometimes,” he said instead.

“Hyrule, I’ve died more than once, and I can tell you that’s not normal and doesn’t just happen sometimes.”

Lightning magic crackled around his fingers. “You mean—the, well, the thing we all share... nobody’s got magic like I do?”

“No,” Wild said. “No, they don’t.”

“Oh.”

Wild furrowed his brows. "Do... do you know why you have a gift like this?"

Hyrule thought of the forest and his mother. He thought of the universe Mama had painted on the back of his hand, a hitchhiker's guide to the world beyond the forest. And he couldn't help but wonder if she had painted a map to a new home—right here with eight other boys. He still had not stopped trembling. 

Mama's crown of magic still rested on his head, a reminder of home. And even if he was not quite sure of where home was, now, he thought  _ of course Mama would guide me there. Silly me to not think so. _

Wild was looking at him, and Hyrule breathed in deeply. Wild was not Time; Wild was not his brother like Time was but the cook who gave him goat butter, who told him  _ survival is a talent. _ And so he licked his cracked lips, and said, "I think I do."

"How?"

Hyrule looked up to the night sky, and pointed at the Goddess' Lyre, the very first constellation he could ever see through the canopy of leaves and the one Mama had taught him of first. "You all joke I was born in a field," he said, "and that's not too far from the truth. But I was raised in a forest, that's for sure, and one day, I was four years old and playing tag—"

"You were playing tag and got magic?" Wild said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"No, Wild, let me finish! Anyway, I was playing tag, and there was a monster." He closed his eyes and remembered how Mama had told it—it was his favorite, beside the tale of the nine-year-old hero. "But there was a fairy who came, and she saved me."

"Who was she?"

He hoped she was proud, and inexplicably, the spell of love she'd cast on him grew warm. Hyrule smiled—so she was still watching after all. 

"Her name was Navi."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you guys next, or fortnight, week!


	4. bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyrule spills and it's not as satisfying as he thinks it'll be until it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Ai, who I Love Lots and hope will come back from the war.

Wild frowned. "Isn't that what Time's fairy was named?" he asked, and his eyebrows were furrowed together. "I can't remember." There was a lost look in his eyes, and Hyrule sighed. The smile slid off his face.

"Yeah, it is," he said, glumly. He thought it would feel good, saying it—saying the truth, like a weight would be lifted off his back. It didn't. It only reminded him of his current predicament, of how to tell Time that _hey, you died and your fairy raised me and I'm her son and I think that makes us brothers._ That sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.

Wild stared at him, blinking slowly, before the implications hit him; his mouth opened and formed a perfect 'o'. "Oh," he said.

"Oh," Hyrule repeated, and told the rest of the story. For a while, they sat in silence.

"...that's... awkward. Time said, um, Navi abandoned him."

"I _guess,"_ Hyrule said, almost helpless, "but I—I don't know _why._ That doesn't even make _sense,_ I just— _ugh,_ it's all so _confusing,"_ he moaned, running his hand down his face. "Because—Mama's son _died._ I _know that,_ and she's spent the rest of her life chasing after him, so why would she suddenly up and abandon him—er, Time?"

Wild let him rant, and Hyrule ran hot, fire beginning to burn in his veins. "And it makes _no_ sense, and like— _Goddesses,_ by Hylia, I grew up with Time as my _childhood bedtime stories_ and I thought he was cool and then he _died!_ And he was _nine,_ and that's younger than me or you when we started, and I just—it _hurts._ I wish I knew him, I wish—"

"Let it out," Wild said, and he pressed something soft into Hyrule's hands—a well-worn cloth, soft and smelling of lye soap. "Take your time, 'Rule," and Hyrule realized he was crying again. _Goddesses,_ he thought, _aren't I supposed to be stronger than this,_ but he took it anyways to wipe his tears away.

He sat there, feeling too dumb and too big, and cried, tears slipping down his face. It was not dramatic—he was not wailing, and although sniffles punctuated his speech, it wasn't like he was struggling to breathe. "I just—I don't get it. I've spent my entire childhood chasing after my brother's ghost, and suddenly Time just up and nowhere just reveals that hey, he's my brother, but it's all wrong and wonky and I just— _Hylia,"_ he said miserably. "What a joke."

"Sounds like one," Wild agreed, "but... Navi—well, she _raised you?"_ He sounded incredulous, like he could not quite believe what Hyrule was saying.

"Yeah. She did," he said, "she was my mama and I miss her. I do, I really do," he said, wistful. "She... she liked combing my hair. Said it was soothing. And sometimes on the night of the full moon, she'd make my favorite dish back then. I haven't found anyone who could make it like her... even if it was the only thing she could cook."

"She sounds like a—a nice mother," Wild said. His face was scrunched up, like he was searching for the right words, "I—I mean, I think that's what mothers are supposed to do, right?" Something in Hyrule startled at that before he remembered that Wild probably didn’t have enough memories of his family to remember what a mother was like. He did not point it out, but he nodded.

"Yeah."

"She sounds a little like Sky," Wild frowned, "except if Sky was, I guess, like, a fairy and a little nicer."

"Sky's _plenty_ nice," Hyrule frowned, "what do you mean?"

"Are you _kidding?!_ He _flushed a love confession down a toilet_ one time!" Wild cried, and then howled with laughter. Hyrule shushed him, afraid they were being too loud and would wake the others up, but Wild didn't stop laughing. He could hear someone's roll getting tossed off, and Hyrule shushed Wild harder. "Oh my _goddesses,_ the way he tells the _story—"_

"Wild! Shut up, by Hylia, they're going to _hear you,"_ but Hyrule was giggling too as Wild told the story, giggles interspersed as he struggled for air. He was thankful, then that he had Wild for a friend, even if Wild was too headstrong for his good and refused to apologize when he thought he was right. Because Wild understood, at least, what it was like to be cornered and did not let it happen to Hyrule.

They were so caught up in laughing, perhaps, that they did not notice when the watch had shifted; when it had stopped being Wild on first-watch and became Twilight on second-watch. Twilight, who woke up and had shoved his roll off because it had been too hot, Twilight, whose head was woozy from the battle earlier but did not mean his sense of hearing had diminished. Twilight, on second-watch.

Who had listened to everything.

//

When the sun had risen and Hyrule's throat was sore from laughing so hard that night, and everyone had eaten their fair share of the breakfast Wild had made, they began to traverse through the forests of Hyrule once more. Wind, Warriors, and Legend were all playing some "I Spy" game, which inevitably included Sky who began going off path to fetch interesting things to catalogue for his Zelda.

"I like to take note of them," he explained as he walked, "the Surface is beautiful and she loves this kind of stuff," and Warriors teased that he thought of her every day, didn't he? Sky blushed at the accusation, but did not deny it. The day went on.

They were traveling through the forest when Four spotted it—"There!"—and raced ahead, leaving the rest of them to scramble behind him. When they saw why he had ran, they understood at once: a great portal stood before them, swirling purple and black and seemingly limitless in how far it seemed to go.

"A portal?" Wind asked, and Sky nodded.

"A portal," he agreed, pausing. There was something not wholly mortal in his actions; whenever Sky paused, so did the rest of the group, awaiting his next words with baited breath. "Fi says it will close soon—we've done what we needed to do in this area."

"And that is?" Warriors snarked, and Sky closed his eyes.

"I don't know," he admitted finally, leaving them all quiet.

Legend stepped forward. "I'll go first, then," he said. The rest of them looked at him and he shrugged. "Meet you guys on the other side?"

"Yeah," Twilight said. He'd been awfully quiet today, Hyrule had noticed, but thought it best not to pry—considering he looked like he'd been through hell and back. "Meet you there."

"Cool," Legend said, and stepped through the portal. He began to disappear, slowly, little by little before all at once he was gone. The rest of them looked at each other—although the shock had died down since they had first done this, the apprehension hadn't quite gone away. Hyrule wasn't sure if it ever would.

Wind looked at the rest of them. "I'm taking Four and Sky with me," he announced, grabbed their arms, and dragged them into the portal. They disappeared, too. Hyrule gulped, and a pit in his stomach formed. He couldn't quite place why. After them, Warriors dragged Time with him, and Wild gave a _look_ to Hyrule that looked like concern before he went through the portal too. That just left—

"Hey," Twilight offered. His smile was strained, but Hyrule couldn't tell if it was because he didn't want to exist in the same space as Hyrule or if his injuries were hurting. "You, uh... you scared?"

"...a little," Hyrule admitted. "I don't like small spaces." Small spaces reminded him of the dungeons. Small spaces reminded him of his encounter with Dark Link. Hyrule's blood yearned for the open air and for the wild, for nature and everything else. He was a lightning storm in a human body—he was unable to stay contained.

"I don't either," Twilight said, and he offered his arm. "Uh. We should go in together."

Dumbfounded, Hyrule stared, until Twilight shook his arm again. "Oh! Um, yeah," he said, and he took it. They stepped through the portal.

And then they were falling, falling, falling—

//

They landed in his Hyrule, and the sky was red and the grass was yellow and brown. 

Hyrule's face burned in shame at their noises of surprise. "Who's Hyrule is this?" Wind wondered, and he wanted to curl up into a small ball when he admitted, _it's mine._ He had fallen in love with the world, yes, but even he could admit its oddity. Or rather, its failure, or of how the great trees which once stretched over the world now merely cowered with no fruits or leaves to speak of. Of how the grass was yellow and brown from the lack of life, and the sky was colored red from the blood and salt in the ocean.

Hyrule knew these things, and he was not ashamed of them. But he was ashamed of their judgement anyway. Quietly, he said, “We should go to the nearest shelter before night falls.”

"Hyrule," Legend said, and there was a crazed look in his eyes. Desperate, even, "What happened to your world?" _Was it my fault?_ was the unasked question, although everyone could hear it.

"No," Hyrule said. And he thought, _do I tell them?_

_Do I tell them of the tragedy?_

And he looked back, and he thought of last night underneath the stars, and he looked at Wild. He stared back, and Hyrule gave a desperate _look,_ but Wild shrugged. _It's your choice. Not mine,_ and Hyrule thought of the laughter they had shared even despite his story and how truly awful it was.

Because Hyrule was raised in the shadow of another child, in the image of his mother's firstborn, and he wasn't ever quite raised as _Hyrule_ —not until now. Not until his home began to change from a forest never entered to eight boys who came and left and came back.

He sucked in a breath, "No, it's not your fault Legend," he said. "It's not anybody's fault. I promise."

"Are you sure?" Legend asked. "How can you be sure that I—that I didn't do, well... this?" He gestured helplessly, and privately, Hyrule was offended on behalf of his world.

"It's no one's fault," Hyrule repeated. "It's just—it's not yours, or mines, or the fallen hero's, okay?" He closed his eyes. "He was only nine. Who could blame him?" And then he opened his eyes, and, regardless of their staring, began to march down the path to the nearest shelter he could think of.

Wind was the first one to follow him, not even batting an eye once the initial shock of _the sky was red and the grass wasn't green_ had washed over him. Then it was Wild, and then Four and Sky, and then Warriors followed and was hauling Legend and Twilight behind him which left Time. Time, who stood there motionless and gazing up at the red sky. Hyrule worried his lip and something swelled within him; he turned and shouted, "You coming?"

At that, Time gave a start and came back to life once again; he began to breathe and move. "I am," he said, jogging to catch up with the rest of them. 

"Too slow, old man?" Warriors teased. The group was startled into a laugh, and life breathed itself back into them. (The crown of magic on Hyrule's head grew warm.)

Hyrule huffed a giggle, and almost feeling breathless, he said, "I know it's weird here, but I promise, the night's beautiful. Seriously, there's nothing like laying out at night and staring up at the sky." He wasn't lying, the nights he’d spent adventuring proved that. Or even those spent on the castle roof with Dawn on the dirty stone floors—pointing up at the stars, flickering like little flames and calling out constellations.

So off they went, but as they traveled on the path, Hyrule began to grow worried. If he was alone, he would have already made it to the shelter, but he was traveling with a group now. And the more people there were, the more they slowed down; they were only halfway there by the time dusk had fallen. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

As beautiful as his Hyrule was, Hyrule would not deny it was dangerous. He would not dispute it, not when he'd pulled all-nighters fending off wizzrobes and tekites and other monsters. Not when he thought of the monsters that roamed, hungry for his blood, and he thought of the consequences with the other heroes here. What would happen if their blood was spilt?

No. He refused to entertain that thought, and at once he knew that they could not set up camp if they were to be safe. They needed to find _shelter._

But there was only one place he could think of; only one place close enough that did not have any monsters. But there was a problem: the borders that kept people out, and borders that kept monsters in.

 _Should I risk it?_ Hyrule wondered, and his eyes searched the horizon. The shelter was too far, they would get there by the morning. Twilight looked dead on his feet and Legend was no better, still recovering from the day before. _Everyone_ was. They needed shelter. They could not afford an attack from monsters hungry for his blood, and Hyrule knew, if it was his fault that his friends were hurt because they were chasing after the golden power—

He wouldn't be able to live with himself.

The only problem was, Hyrule was unsure of how he would get his friends in. It was a question he had struggled with for a long, long time—four years, in fact. But he had made a promise, even if he wasn't quite sure with whom that promise laid with, and he closed his eyes and made a decision.

He was a hero, he reminded himself. _Legend called you a hero and heroes confront their fears head on, Hyrule, remember?_ he thought to himself.

"Change of plans," he announced. "We're going off path. I need you all to trust me. Don't speak to anyone, move fast, don't—just don't be stupid. _Please."_

Surprisingly, it was Twilight who stepped forward. "Okay," he said softly. "Okay. Where do we need to go?"

Hyrule didn't exactly understand why it was Twilight who was backing him up, but he didn't reject it regardless. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, okay, we need to get to the forest. Now. We need to get off the road, _now,"_ he said, and then stepped off the path. He remembered, then, an old memory—when Hyrule was nine and had stepped off the path, the monsters ready to swallow him whole. But they had not, and Mama had chastised him later, forbidding him to ever do so again.

It looked like he didn't have a choice, this time, and Hyrule closed his eyes. _Mama,_ he wondered, _will you watch over us?_ The spell of protection grew warm on his head and he knew her answer, blood running hot like lightning magic. "Let's go," he said, opening his eyes, and he led them off the path to the woods.

He did not stop, even though the muscles in his legs began to tire, or when Four began to lag behind because he couldn't keep up so Wild carried him. He did not stop, even when Sky nearly began to complain only to be shushed by Wind and Warriors. He did not stop, not even when he saw travelers in the distance at night—he did not know if they were aches, and Hyrule would not lead his friends into an ambush.

He would _not._

They were close, now, and he began to walk faster. The changes began to become evident: sugar magic dusted the grass, and it grew wilder and thicker and greener. The brush began to become harder to move through. And Hyrule knew, and his blood began to sing of home. He wasn't quite sure whether it was because his heart had settled on an answer, or simply because he was so close to where he had said goodbye to Mama.

Finally, they arrived at the barrier of the forest: a babbling brook, running quietly through the ground. "Wait," Hyrule said softly when Wild went to step over it.

"Why?"

Hyrule went to answer, but suddenly, someone else spoke up. "Running water is a barrier that keeps evil out," Time said. And then he blinked, like he was surprised that it existed, before turning to Hyrule. "Where are you taking us? Why is there a—"

"—magic barrier?" Hyrule interrupted, and he stared into the woods. "Because it's like you said—it keeps evil out." He exhaled, heavy, and closed his eyes; he brought his hand up to the invisible barrier and rested his hand upon the weight of magic. This time, it was not quite the sugar magic which fairies possessed—instead, it sang of nature, of a rhythm that was found only in the wild.

He thought of magic, and what he wanted. He wanted to protect his friends. He wanted to see Mama again, and he missed her, even if he didn't know where his home laid. He didn't quite know the spell that let this happen, and he almost wanted to look at Wild. But this was his choice to make.

The magic swelled under his hands, and Hyrule gulped; there was no hiding where he was taking them. No more skirting around issues. No more lying, or obfuscating, but that did not matter. Because—because there was a home to be found, and if there was one thing Hyrule knew, it was that his mother had painted a map on the back of his hand with the stars and the universe and all that laid in between.

Lightning magic crackled around his fingertips. There was no exact spell that Hyrule knew of that allowed them in, but it didn't matter. The magic was warm and malleable underneath his hands. Soft, but hard, ever changing and sparking. He wanted them safe. He wanted them _happy._

The magic changed, and underneath his hand placed upon that magic barrier, it began to grow—first a ripple, before a part of the barrier simply melted away, like sugar glass underneath the sun's heat. Hyrule blinked, and then grinned joyously. It had worked. It had _worked._

And then, "What," Four said flatly, "was _that?"_

"Magic," Hyrule said. "It's magic. And—and it's mine." He turned back to face them all, and gave a wobbly grin; he noticed Wild's small thumbs up near his waist. "Uh, so."

What Hyrule did not realize, at that moment, was the peculiarity he had committed: because magic was able to break the barrier, yes, but it was never lightning magic that had done so. It was nothing like how the fairies weaseled their sugar magic through the divots of the barrier and simply enveloped themselves in the magic, letting themselves sink in. No—rather, Hyrule's magic enveloped the barrier and simply convinced it to let them through.

A long time ago, once upon a time, there was a very desperate fairy who was grieving for her lost child. Navi created a spell that would change the story, that would shake the very foundations of nature itself—she did not know, at the time, the power it would wield, or how right she was about the strength of a mother's love. She did not know the consequences that it would cause, how it would shake magic itself. There was a reason that no hero beyond Hyrule possessed magic—and even though he was not the first to come, incarnation wise, there was something very, very old about Hyrule that wasn't quite worldly. 

Perhaps if Hyrule knew the consequences that would happen when he used his magic, maybe he would have decided to lead his family to another shelter after all. But he did not. So when Hyrule wanted, desperately with the fear for his friends' safety and the weight of failure upon him, his magic responded in kind. His magic was the same magic Navi had weaved into him, that he had changed himself, even if he did not quite know it.

Hyrule gestured for them to step in first. He didn't want harm to befall any of his friends. "Come on," he urged. "I promise it's safe, okay? Just don't go off the path like we just did, heh."

Wind narrowed his eyes. "Okay," he said, "but as soon as I'm able to be loud again, you know I'm going to bombard you with questions, right?"

Hyrule blanched at the prospect, but nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"Good," Wind said, and most the heroes nodded along with him; he made to step over the brook but then paused. He turned to Time, who had remained tightlipped. "Time? You want to go first? You look pretty awful."

At that, Time gave a start, like he realized he belonged in real life and not in his head. "Oh," he said softly, then, "alright. Okay." Time moved forward and stepped over the brook, at Wind's urging. Poor Wind didn't realize the consequences of his actions, in just the same way Hyrule did not realize the effect of his magic.

A long time ago, when a hero had fallen, he did not realize he had not only left a mother behind. He had left behind a girl. He had left behind a princess. He had left behind a family of children who had lived forever, who might have lived forever, were it not for the weight of Ganon's wrath upon them.

They had fought so desperately to survive, and the forest changed. They did not succeed, because sometimes, trying with everything you had still wasn't enough. But they were children, and there was a magic to that, in their infinity and in their youth. The children of the forest could not see their home destroyed—not again.

So they changed themselves. Made themselves into magic, at the cost of their lives; they molded themselves into a barrier of magic and carved a channel of running water. No monsters in. No monsters out, either, but that was okay, because the main monster could not get in. Ganon could shout and wail all he wanted, but he would not destroy the last remains of the hero's legacy, who had really only lived for nine years before he had fallen.

Who was really only a child, when he had fallen.

But when Hyrule used his magic, it changed—because lightning changed, shaped itself by want and desperation, shook the foundations as it pleased. The magic of the barrier changed, from beyond its nature magic, which sang of the wild and if you listened to it hard, sounded like the airy notes of an ocarina. When Time stepped over the barrier, the children recognized him—even if he was different, was not a child so much as he was an adult.

Hyrule's magic was fueled by desperation—a wish, a want, to keep his friends safe. And the children understood. Time stepped over the brook, and there was a gentle blow of wind on his face. A boy whispered, "Hey, fairy boy!" and then he was gone in a cackle. Another one said, "Is that him, is that really him?"

Time paused, frozen in his grief or in shock or perhaps both.

There was a girl—a girl and a sage, who fought for her home and still did not succeed. She had waited a very long time for Hyrule to come home, and even longer for the boy before him to come home, too. 

Saria whispered, "Welcome home, Link," and then picked up her wooden ocarina and began to play her song.


	5. wilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyrule wilts. Thankfully, he's got some friends willing to prop him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's dedicated to lucy, who was my biggest inspiration writing time.

The girl disappeared—she was merely a faded impression of magic, a pale imitation of the real thing. The shock on Time's face did not; as the rest of the Links filed in through the hole in the magic and Hyrule sealed it back closed. Time stood there, frozen in his grief or shock or maybe just both. 

Time’s shoulders shook. If Hyrule didn’t squint, he couldn’t see it, but he knew Time was shaking all the same. The girl’s song played still, a faint melody living in the trees. The music notes were engraved in the grooves of the trees, eighth and quarter notes marked in the tree bark. There was a magic in that and in that there was magic.

Once Hyrule had stepped through, following the last hero, he closed the magic border to not let the monsters through. The lightning magic crackled under his hand, soft and malleable. It lit their dim surroundings under night's starry blanket. "Remember, don't step off the path," he whispered. But in the deafening silence, it was almost like a yell.

"I guess," Wild said, and Hyrule knew he was itching to go off path.

"I'm serious," he said. "Please—there are monsters here. The barrier keeps evil out. It cannot do anything for the evil within." At that, most of the heroes sighed, but took extra care to not step off the path. As Hyrule led them down the forest—and wasn't that strange, to think of it as the forest and not  _ his  _ forest, his  _ home _ —he noticed Time lag behind. "Time?" he called.

Time did not listen. He stood there on the forest path, until he was not quite standing anymore and he was closer to the edges of the path. "Time?" Twilight called this time, and still he did not listen. He inched closer and closer to one of the trees, and what his eye saw that the others did not was a girl who was playing an ocarina.

"I know you," Time murmured, and so caught up, he did not notice that he stepped off the path.

Everything in Hyrule's mind came to a screeching halt. His breath quickened, and Hyrule shoved the rest of the heroes behind him. "Go," he whispered, and it was not loud enough to cover up the pounding of his heart. "Go, you must follow the path. Take a left turn, keep to the left, just  _ don't turn right," _ he said. "Only stop when you see the hollow tree stump with a knot in it."

"Wait," Wild said, but he was already being dragged down the path by Warriors. "Wait,  _ Hyrule—" _ he said, before the night swallowed him up. The rest of them followed him, all but two: the Hero of Wind and the Hero of Twilight.

"Come  _ on," _ the Hero of Wind said, "Twilight, you heard him, come  _ on!" _ But the Ordonian did not budge. He stood his ground, and his determination was written in his broad shoulders. Wind snarled. "Fine, then," he said. "Then if you're going to be here then I hope you can at least work something out with Hyrule and Time because it's obvious you three have something going on."

The Hero of Wind turned on his heel and hurried after the rest of them. Twilight called out, "Thank you, sailor." The youngest hero did not pause nor look back but kept going. Twilight smiled—he was a good kid.

Then there were three. "You should go," Hyrule said, and he was a little furious that of course it was  _ Twilight  _ who wouldn't listen to him. "Twilight, please." He reached for Time, and Hyrule stepped off the path and readied his silver sword.

"No," Twilight said. "I won't leave."

"Why?" Hyrule said. He was desperate, now. "Why won't you leave? Twilight, I—it's  _ safer, _ just  _ go, _ you're  _ dead on your feet.  _ You're only going to hurt more than help—"

"I don't care," Twilight said. He stepped off the path, and then there were three. "I don't care. I'm not leaving. I'm  _ staying. _ I'm not about to abandon my—" he coughed, flushing red but continuing. "Well. I'm not about to abandon my uncle." 

Then he drew his Ordonian sword, the metal gleaming in the dim moonlight.

Hyrule broke into a sudden coughing fit. "Wh- _ what,"  _ he said, coughing. He didn't quite understand what Twilight had said, but it was startling enough anyways. "Twilight, what, you're—you're  _ older than me—" _ he said, confused.

Twilight did not look at him. His eyes glittered in the moonlight, and he did not look human for a second. But he was deadly, and graceful all the same. "I mean," he said, "I heard. I heard it all, Hyrule, the magic and how you grew up and I  _ get it." _ His head turned, and Hyrule thought he looked much like a wolf like this—almost predatorial. "So you and Time are... kind of brothers, which I guess would make you my uncle. Or something."

Hyrule paled underneath his sun tan and freckles, then. "What?" he uttered, completely frozen. Distantly, he was so glad Time was so out of it that he did not hear their conversation. "No, you didn't hear that, Twilight."

_ You just showed them your magic,  _ he thought a little hysterically. "I mean—I—well, the magic was true but—" he fumbled.

Finally, he gave up. “It’s true,” he said, and he couldn’t think of any other words. He didn’t know how to describe it—not the situation nor the shame of it. Of how he treated Twilight, and Time, all those days ago. 

And wasn’t it strange, for the boy that was older than him to call him uncle? And partly, Hyrule knew that whatever their confusing relationship was (reincarnation? different version? brothers? uncle and nephew?), that Twilight was right. But the idea of Twilight calling uncle—calling him a part of his family—

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Twilight said. “Wild—Wild said, when we had been facing the moblin and I got knocked away—that he thought I was going to die,  _ I  _ thought I was going to die. But he—I saw you. And you had your hand out, and somehow, I stopped falling right before I hit the earth.”

“...yeah.” Hyrule said. The hair on the back of his neck began to raise so he readied his sword. Twilight shifted from where he had his back to only Time to where he could defend both of them.

When the monsters howled and stalked closer, Twilight swayed on his feet and for a second Hyrule thought he would faint. But he did not, even as his guilt weighed on him. “I never said I was sorry for confronting you,” Twilight said, “I should have known better than to push a survivor into a corner.”

Hyrule thought of Wild, and how he and Twilight interacted. He thought of how when Wild said  _ survival is a talent, _ it sounded like he was repeating it from someone else. And he gave a little giggle despite everything and said, “I was supposed to apologize.”

Twilight grinned. “Well I guess you can if we’re still alive after this,” and then the monsters were upon them.

It was Twilight who acted first. He swung his heavy sword, and the monsters wailed underneath the force of it. But he made a critical mistake—because Twilight was a survivor, but he had already put himself in a corner before it even started.

He was the first to fall. Twilight only batted them away, for he did not aim to hurt. He only wanted to defend—defend the family which he had only recently discovered, but still forged through blood and sweat and tears.

Hyrule swung his sword, too. But he was luckier—because Twilight, even as his breathing grew labored, even as he could not swing one of his arms anymore, still fought to protect him and Time. He grew angrier and angrier, the more Twilight was hurt. His silver sword held the weight of the duty the Old Man had given him, and he would not fail it.

“I thought,” he huffed, “that you would let me  _ apologize,”  _ he continued. His lungs began to hurt; he was running on adrenaline and hope but even those began to fail. His throat grew tight and the air grew colder, and tears stung at his eyes and he panted with exertion. 

Twilight did not respond. It was not because he was dead, but there was blood running down his face, from reopened wounds and new ones too. He hit the earth after a monster landed a lucky swipe on him.

And Hyrule grew angry. And he grew angrier and angrier, and he knew he was crying and he  _ did not care. _ He was in the forest and he was surrounded by his family, and he would not let them die here. He  _ wouldn’t,  _ not when he led them here himself.

He could not use any more magic. He wanted so fiercely, so desperately even still; Hyrule fought and he was amongst his brothers. The spell of protection on his head grew warmer, warmer and warmer until it burst into a flame so hot it burned white.

No one remained but him. Time was out of it and Twilight was down. Hyrule stayed, determined and stubborn and something set in his jaw which read of courage. The monster growled and rushed at him, eager for a battle, and the magic at his fingertips did not keep it at bay. It howled, eager for a challenge. Hyrule snarled, “You will not have them, they are mine, and they are my  _ family  _ and  _ you cannot have them.” _

He did not know why Time was out of it, why he looked as if he was chasing after lost ghosts. He could not do anything for Twilight, who was downed. He only knew that this was his family, and this forest, this monster could not have them.

And the magic crowning him illuminated the forest, burning so bright—

It was still not enough. The monsters, the lone monster, charged at him and Hyrule fell. But he saw this: he saw blue. He saw a fairy made of desperation and lightning magic, chiming something unintelligible with her magic pushing the monster away.

_ Mama, _ Hyrule thought drowsily,  _ I did it, don’t you see? I came back to the forest. _ Navi did not hear it, of course—for all she was magic, she could not read thoughts. But she won, and Navi looked back at three boys and thought of the other six in her clearing.

And somehow, she understood. “Stupid child,” she muttered fondly; she fluttered down to kiss Hyrule’s cheek. “You did it, didn’t you?”

When she planted a light kiss on his cheek, Hyrule rose. There was a calling for him; he came face to face with his mother. He had not stopped crying, and even still did he cry, because it had been four years since he had seen her and he had missed her every day.

“Hello, Mama,” he said, “I love you.”

It was the last thing he had said to her before he had left, and so it was fitting it was the first thing he said when he returned. “I love you, too,” Navi said, and then she made to go heal his other companions before she froze.

She said, “Link?”

Her magic trembled and so did she, but Time did not respond. His eye was misty, and Navi nearly reached out to break his reverie before she remembered the forest rules. “You went off path, didn’t you,” she said, “you stupid boy, that’s what you are.”

But she was sobbing. “You stupid boy,  _ my  _ stupid boy,” she said. This time, she went to settle herself on Hyrule’s shoulder to cry. Hyrule awkwardly shook Twilight into the realm of the living again. 

“I’m sorry,” he said honestly. And then he smiled. “We lived, so there’s my apology.”

Twilight coughed, but grinned. “Apology accepted,” he said, before noticing the trembling blue fairy. “Oh,” he said, and Navi did not stop sobbing but she still fluttered in joy around Twilight anyway. Then she returned to Hyrule’s shoulder and told Twilight to pick Time up, because only those who had strayed off the path were allowed to touch the ones gone astray.

He grunted underneath the weight of Time’s armor, so Hyrule took half his load. When they stepped onto the path again, this time, there were four.

//

He had not been to this forest clearing for four years, but he knew the directions all the same. His mother had painted a map to a home on the back of his hand—Hyrule just had to choose what he wanted his home to be. And he thought,  _ home is a place with eight other boys and a fairy for a mother. _

When he arrived at the clearing, they were worse for wear. Still, Twilight laughed when Wild broke out before the others to worry over him and when Wind asked if he and Hyrule had worked out his beef (he, Four, and Sky all shared a joint high five when Hyrule said yes).

All the while, Warriors fussed over Time—who, as it had turned out, ended up falling asleep standing. “I think it’s the magic of the forest,” Legend said, “since he’s apparently  _ been here  _ before but  _ didn’t tell us.” _

The sun began to rise, and Hyrule breathed a sigh of relief. They had done it. They had survived the night and no (major) blood was shed and taken.  _ Praise Hylia, _ Hyrule thought. He also thought he could definitely use a nap, and he’d deserved one.

At that, Mama laughed. “I suppose you do,” she said, “rest, Link.”

“Hyrule,” he remembered saying as he lied down in the grass. It was soft and the sun had made it warm. “‘S Hyrule. ‘M not... not Link,” he yawned, and closed his eyes, leaving his mother to blink in surprise. 

The last thing Hyrule remembered before he slept was Twilight saying, “Good night, Uncle,” and he found that he didn’t mind if Twilight or Wild told the others of all that happened.

//

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” was the first thing Hyrule heard when he awoke. The dapple sunlight was scattered over his face still, and when he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, he found himself face to face with Sky. The Chosen Hero had a grin on his face. “Hello, sleepyhead,” he teased.

“Look who’s talking,” Hyrule rolled his eyes. And it was good to be like this—when he accepted a hot meal from Sky’s hands and Wind’s questions (“So you were raised by Time’s fairy?”), when no one questioned him. Although, Time was still asleep, even though it had verged well into the afternoon.

“Is he alright?” Hyrule asked Wild, who shrugged.

“Probably,” he said, and then gave a pained  _ owww  _ as Warriors weaved flowers into his hair.

“You asked for it,” the captain said. “Why can’t you be more like Hyrule? He was much easier, geez,” he snorted. It was true—out of sheer boredom as they waited for Time and Twilight to recover, Warriors (and surprisingly Legend) offered to make flower crowns. On top Hyrule’s head sat a flower crown of forest wildflowers and silent princesses, the petals big and buttery soft.

“Does anyone know where Mama is?” Hyrule said. Wind hummed. 

“I think she’s near the center of the forest. Said she was paying her respects,” he said. Hyrule thought, and thought some more. There was only one thing in the center of the forest and he grew somber.

Mama took him there, once, before he’d begged her to never let him go there again. It was too sad, and too, too much. But he was not a child, now—he was sixteen, so Hyrule went along the forest path, following the sound of the forest children laughing.

When he came to the entrance, there was a girl there. A wooden ocarina was perched in her hands, and she played her song, written in tree bark and magic. She saw him and put the ocarina down.

“Hyrule?” she said. “Your name is Hyrule, right?” Her voice was wispy and ethereal; it did not belong and it showed. He nodded, unable to move in awe of all she was.

The girl had been a sage, once, before she had died. She hadn’t been able to grow into her role the same way she would never grow into an adult. Hyrule did not know her much, but he thought he did anyway. “Yes,” he said. “That’s me. I’m Hyrule.”

“I knew a boy named Link, once,” she said. She was looking far off into the distance. The girl was made of magic but she was only a pale imitation of the real thing, but she lived and she breathed the forest all the same. “Your name is Link, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hyrule answered, because this was true, too.

“He was my best friend. My best friend forever.”

She was talking about Time. About Link, about Navi’s son, about her best friend. About the nine-year-old hero who died before he could reach a forever, passed down through fairy tales and legend and court poems and songs. “He died,” Hyrule said softly.

“He did?” she said. “I could have sworn I said welcome home to him. I thought I did. I thought I did,” and she broke, for a second—where she was not magic, was not a kokiri, but simply a girl who wanted her best friend. But her image stayed.

“You did,” Hyrule said, even if he didn’t know if she did or didn’t. “It’s okay, Saria,” he said. He thought of Saria Town, the towns named after the sages; Hyrule said, “You can rest, now.”

“I cannot rest,” she said, but Saria’s lips quirked into an impish smile anyways. “A child does not need rest, and if she wants her best friend, she will not wait for him. Thank you, Hyrule,” she said, “I will go find him.”

She left the entrance, and Hyrule stepped into the great forest clearing. In the center sat a stump, and it was dead. Hyrule bent his head and murmured a prayer for the Great Deku Tree, and went to Navi, who sat at the stump’s edges.

“Mama,” he greeted softly. Navi’s wings fluttered in acknowledgement, and he joined her at the edge of the stump. “How are you feeling?”

Navi groaned and let her head fall into her hands. “When did you become so perceptive?” she said, “you used to not pick up on anything even when I slipped vegetables into your food—“

“You did  _ what?” _

“—and now you’re old enough to know what’s troubling me,” she sighed. “Where’d my little boy go?”

“Right here, Mama,” Hyrule said. “I’m still your little boy.”

Navi laughed. “My boy, huh,” she said. “You’ve certainly grown, L—Hyrule,” she corrected herself.

“... What’s wrong?” he asked again. He thought he might know, from why she had come here, specifically to this place. Navi sighed; she bowed her head and gave a small prayer to Hylia for the Great Deku Tree before pausing somberly.

“Is it him? Is that—is that him,” she said.

Hyrule hesitated. “Yes,” he decided on finally, “but it’s when—when he lives. And... he said you had abandoned him.”

Suddenly, there was a crushing weight upon him; there was a storm in Mama’s eyes. “I did what?” she asked nobody. “I,” she said, and she was a storm in the form of a fairy and rain fell. “What was different?” she asked. “Was it because—was it that—what did I not do?” she said, “Why was it Link couldn’t have survived in this one as well?”

Hyrule did not have an answer for that.

They sat there like that as the sun began to sink into the horizon, waiting for the moon to take its place. Finally, her sobs had subsided, the awful, awful noise of broken chiming gone. Still, her voice trembled. “His—the other hero said he had a wife, yes?”

“Yes,” Hyrule said. “Miss Malon.”

Navi closed her eyes. “I remember that girl, I think,” she said. “She gave him Epona, didn’t she...? I’m glad Link has someone like her.”

“Time,” Hyrule said softly. “Mama, I know he’s Link but he’s not—well I mean—“

“I know,” she sighed.

They sat in a comfortable quiet, listening to the nature magic that was made up of the children laughing. And a girl played her forest song, searching for her forever friend; Hyrule not Navi could not have possibly known that she had found him. He had woken up, her forever friend—and he followed the sound of her music and his heart’s longing.

And this boy‘s feet took him to a place where he used to receive guidance; he let himself come to the entrance and came face to face with his childhood. But he was not a child, and had not been for a long, long time. “I’m here, Saria,” he said, “I’m only just getting Hyrule, because it’s getting late out.”

The kokiri girl smiled and played a note on her ocarina, and she was gone, made of magic and memories. The boy stepped in. Hyrule turned at the sound.

He’d thought himself ready, and he realized that he wasn’t. He really, really was not ready for this or this conversation. Hyrule was not ready to tell the story of why he called Navi his mother, nor was he ready to tell of what he had learned.

Especially, least of all, to the Hero of Time, who was staring at—

“Navi?” he said. He was quiet, but in the silence it was deafening. And this time, it was not only Hyrule’s world which crashed.


	6. fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyrule, Time, and Navi talk. It doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's shoutout goes to... peach and sue!!!!!!! ilu all <3 mwah!

“Navi,” Time repeated. “Navi, is—is it you?”

The fairy did not respond. She only stared blankly at her son—or was he her son?—and did not move. It was as if there was nothing moving at all, the three of them encased in a block of amber. All static and still and too thick to even breathe.

Then Navi’s wings fluttered, dusting off the latent lightning magic which had settled on her shoulders. The world began moving. “Link,” she said quietly, “or you go by Time now, don’t you?”

Time began walking toward them, but his movements stuttered. Like he wasn’t quite in control of himself, or like he wasn’t quite able to believe that what was in front of him was real. “I’m not dreaming again, am I?” he asked. “Did I fall asleep for another seven years?”

“No,” Navi said, and her wings fluttered hesitantly. “No, you’re not, Time,” she said, before she lifted herself into the air and flew over to Time. “You look older, now,” she said. “L—Hyrule says you have a wife.”

“I do,” he said, and then blinked. “Hyrule. Wait,” he turned his head so he was looking at Hyrule. “How do you know Navi?”

Hyrule had not quite unfrozen himself yet. But he steeped himself and sucked in a breath, and said, “She’s—she’s my mo— _ fairy. _ Raised me,” he clarified.

“You knew her?” Time said. “So—so you knew Navi,” and Hyrule bobbed his head nervously. He did not know what he would do now, for he was still stuck. He’d always loved to explore and run wild, but now he could not even do that.

“Yeah,” and he licked his lips. “Yes, I did—well. Do.”

Time’s face went... muted. Hyrule could not hear Saria playing her ocarina or the beating of the earth, only his heartbeat, pounding fast in his chest. There was no magic to be found here—only just want.

“I,” Time said, and then he buried his face in his hands. Navi drew away, startled. “Hyrule, you found her and you didn’t tell me...?”

Hyrule’s breath quickened, and he could not hear any comfort from the earth; he could not see any comfort from the stars. “I—yes,” he admitted, “but Time I—“

“You  _ knew,” _ he said. “Malon told you, even. Why didn’t you tell me? Please, Hyrule, you  _ know _ I’ve been looking for a long time.”

“... Because I didn’t want you to react like this,” he said, licking his lips. “Time, please, you have to understand, Mama isn’t—“

“Mama?”

Hyrule grew quiet, and he wasn’t sure if the burning shame in his throat was because he’d flushed red or grown pale. Whatever it was, Time quieted at the realization. “So Navi’s your mama,” he said.

“I am,” Mama said. She had fluttered closer to Time. “I am,” she said again, and she reached out for him—

He laughed and the sound was bitter. “So she raised you and she’s still around,” he said, and the weight of his hurt sent Navi back. “Okay. Okay.”

“This is why I didn’t want to  _ tell  _ you,” Hyrule said, “Time, it’s just—she’s not  _ your Navi—” _

And at the same time, Mama said, “Don’t you speak like that to him, Time, he is my  _ son—” _

“Your  _ son?  _ Your  _ mama?” _ Time said. “I see how it is.” Hyrule curled his fists, and there was an ugly monster roaring in his chest that demanded to be heard. He stamped it down— _ heroes are not monsters, _ he reminded himself,  _ they slay them. _

Hyrule pushed down the dragon roaring in his chest. “No, Time, it’s—it’s that you’re not— _ ugh,”  _ he said, because he couldn’t find the right words to say it. How did he tell someone else that they were his dead brother? He froze up and he thought of the children he’d met on his quest. Thought of how he said he would beat Ganon for his brother.

There was no tactful way to say this, so Hyrule whispered, “It’s just that you died, Time.”

The world halted once more—nothing moved or breathed. When Hyrule looked for magic, there was none. “Oh,” Time said.

Hyrule gulped. “You died, Time,” he said, “when you were fighting Ganon—”

“Saria,” Time breathed. “No. Oh, no,  _ no,” _ he moaned; his hands pulled at his hair. “Don’t tell me—did she, did Zelda, did  _ Malon—” _

“I don’t know.” Navi said. “I don’t know.” She looked ashamed. “I fled so I wouldn’t get killed.”

“Even Darunia, too?” Time said, and he sunk to his knees. The clang of his armor on the dead forest floor was too loud in the deafening silence. “And—oh,” he said. It was as if he noticed what was around him for the first time—the barren trees in the forest enclosure, the great dead tree stump that Navi and Hyrule sat on.

“The Deku Tree didn’t,” Time said, and his face twisted in grief. “So this is what happens when I fail?”

Hyrule stiffened. He knew that tone of voice—the one that screamed of self blame. He knew it, because he saw it in his mother when she spoke of her dead son. He knew it when he saw it when Legend looked at the world around him. He knew it when Dawn punched the castle walls and cried for her lost childhood spent running a kingdom in shambles.

He knew it, because it was what he awoke to every single day.

Something in Time changed. “I might have been nine, but you were twelve, Hyrule,” and his hands began to shake. “Both you and Legend were so  _ young,  _ hell, I didn’t even—at least I was older when I actually faced down Ganon,” he breathed out. “Goddesses, Hyrule, I’m sorry I left you with this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hyrule said; he stumbled to his feet to pull Time up to his feet again. “Time, please—“

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Time said. “I—I could have known and made it better, couldn’t have—“

Hyrule felt a pit in his stomach. “No,” he said. “Time, you aren’t  _ listening  _ to me, this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you—“

“Why didn’t you? I couldn’t have—goddesses, I couldn’t have failed everyone here,” he said. And Mama broke.

“Do not call my son a failure,” she snapped. “He did not  _ fail, _ he was  _ nine, _ and I  _ abandoned him  _ but it was  _ not his fault he failed!” _

“So?” Time retorted. “He—I still didn’t succeed, and look at where we are now.” He jerked his chin to the dead Deku Tree’s stump, and there was a cold fury in his eye. Hyrule felt the ugly beast in his chest roar.

“This is still my world, Time,” he said, “it’s not all that  _ bad—” _

“The skies are  _ red, _ I heard you telling Wild one night that you can’t let monsters have your  _ blood—” _

“It’s still  _ mine!”  _ Hyrule shouted. “I still  _ fought  _ for this world, I still bled and I still  _ bleed, _ Time! And it’s mine and I like it, but I’m starting to have doubts because everyone keeps on saying  _ otherwise.  _ And you’re  _ not helping,” _ he said, breathing hard at the end of it.

Time stiffened. “You’re right,” he said softly. “Fine. You’re right. What a load of good I did around here.”

_ “Stop _ that! Stop the self doubt, stop the anger, Time,” Navi said, settling herself onto Hyrule’s shoulder. And quieter, “The Link I knew wouldn’t do this.”

In a clearing where there was no magic to be found, there was nothing to hide the truth. Time froze. “So he wouldn’t,” he said.

Hyrule scowled, something rising in his chest and getting tangled in his mouth, all teeth and anger and hurt. “Shut up,” he snarled, the ugly beast in his chest giving a roar of triumph. Heroes shouldn’t give in to the hurt that had carved its place out in his chest, but Hyrule did not care. “Shut up, Time,” he repeated, “I didn’t want to tell you this and I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to go  _ through  _ this again—“

It was too much. It was all just too much, the angry fluttering of Mama’s wings, the hurt that Time had. The lack of music. How Hyrule could not hear the heartbeat of the world, the one which he adored so much, and he thought how ironic it was for him to find his family only for them to tear themselves apart before he could even know them.

“Why didn’t you want to  _ tell  _ me,” Time retorted, “is it because you don’t trust me?”

“Because I was  _ scared!” _ he shouted. He was frozen, and he could not move, and he was breathing so hard it sounded like he was sobbing. And then Hyrule realized he was. “Because I was  _ scared, _ Time. Of this. Of hurting you, of hurting Mama, of hurting  _ me,” _ he said.

“... You were scared to trust me,” Time said. “Is that it?”

Hyrule found himself ashamed to admit so, but he said, “Yes.” And it burned: in his ears, in his throat, in the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Time,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

His chest was tight. He had to be dumb and stupid, standing here like this; he was standing in his childhood home and he couldn’t think of a single happy memory. Standing in the middle of a clearing that was only filled with dead things and the memory of them, the two other people there did not do anything to stop his crying.

Time stared at him, and then his eye drifted to Mama, who sat on Hyrule’s shoulder. He said, “So you knew and you didn’t trust me enough to tell me, but—“ and something twisted, then, the shape of his mouth, “but I trusted you.”

“You did?”

_ Why would you trust me, _ Hyrule thought, a little crazed.  _ Why would you ever trust me when I kept this from you, all because I was scared? _

Time blinked, surprised, before he drew forward closer to Hyrule. “I trusted— _ trust _ you,” he said, still looking and Navi. “I thought you knew that,” and then he was right in front of them.

“I didn’t.”

Time looked like he was floundering.

“I trust you,” he said, “I trust you and I thought you at the very least  _ knew  _ that. Was that why you didn’t—was that why you didn’t trust me?” His voice had grown louder and louder until it was almost like he was shouting. “I thought you could have trusted me with—with all of  _ this—” _

“But I didn’t and I don’t,” Hyrule said.

“Because you were scared.” 

“...yes.”

“Because you were  _ scared  _ of being  _ hurt." _ Time’s voice was so loud that it drowned out anything else—Mama’s frantic chiming, trying to get both her boys to stop fighting. But the only thing that Hyrule had ears for was Twilight’s shouting for them to come back.

Hyrule did not hear it at all, because the roaring of the ugly beast in his chest was louder. “Stop,” he heard himself stay. “Just  _ stop  _ it, Time, I’m  _ done. _ I don’t want your questions, I don’t want your support, and if this is how you act when someone tells you anything then now I understand why she  _ left you.” _

Hyrule shoved past Time. “We’re here, Twilight,” he called, and Navi fluttered uncertainly behind him, glancing between him and Time. It wasn’t long before Twilight came to the clearing and noticed them all—Time’s balled fists, Navi’s uncertainty, hanging in the air, and Hyrule’s red face, blotchy from crying.

“Are you okay?” he asked, but Time walked past Hyrule and Twilight, already heading down the forest path. Twilight stared after him before Hyrule pushed him along.

“Don’t push it,” he said, his voice raspy. Twilight nodded hesitantly, and they went back to the forest clearing where Navi had raised Hyrule. The others were already there—Time had pulled himself into his roll, back to the rest of the group. Wild had a stew cooking, and when he caught sight of them, he waved them over.

Then he noticed how they all looked. He opened his mouth to ask before Twilight jerked his head to Time and Hyrule, shaking it, and Wild sighed. “Welcome back,” he said and spooned them all a bowl of stew.

//

That night, Hyrule looked up at the stars. No one had to be on watch—the forest magic came alive once more, and if Hyrule focused hard enough, he could hear Saria’s song. But there was something different, this time—because Mama was on his hair, combing through it like he was eight-years-old all over again.

“Mama,” he whispered, and she shifted. The latent lightning magic which settled on her shoulders fell onto his hair and near his nose. He sneezed, before he continued. “Mama, what do I do?”

Navi did not reply. She did not know, because she did not recognize Time as the son she had known—her fingers simply continued to work on combing through Hyrule’s hair. He tried to settle himself into a more comfortable position so he could maybe sleep.

He could not, his thoughts too loud. “Mama,” he whispered again, underneath the blanket of stars that covered them. “Please, what do I say?”

She did not say anything once more, and Hyrule rubbed at his eyes. “I want to say I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t know how to,” he admitted, and he thought of the conversation he had with Time. Who was right, because Hyrule was still too scared to trust him with all of this. How could he, when he had to have enough hurt for him and his dead brother?

Hyrule shifted again, rolling onto his side. He was too tired to stare and think of questions for the stars or to stare dreams in the face—but apparently, he was going to stare in someone else’s face. Legend stared back at him, and his face was flat.

“Can’t sleep?” he said, raising an eyebrow, and Hyrule nearly shrieked.

“Legend,” he said, startled so much that his heart was beating out of his chest. “Er, hi. Yeah. I...can’t sleep.”

“...do you want to talk about it?” Legend murmured, quieter. And honestly, Hyrule did not really want to. But he was a hero—a poor excuse of one, admittedly—and heroes confronted their fears. So Hyrule nodded.

“I shouted at Time,” he admitted. He was ashamed that he had given into the hurt and anger that stewed in his heart, in the ugly beast that liked to roar its rage. “I didn’t want to, but he kept on pushing, and I just—goddesses, I really hurt him.”

“That’s for sure,” Legend muttered. He turned on his side so he could see Navi and Hyrule better. “So you shouted at him. What next?”

“What  _ next?” _ Hyrule said, incredulously. “I mean—okay, apologizing. I just... how do I go about it? He doesn’t want to talk to me, I know that.”

Legend shrugged. “That’s for you to decide. But actions speak louder than words, and better sooner than later.”

Hyrule sighed. “Yes, I know that,” he said, “but I’m just—I’m scared,” he admitted, for the second time that day. But he was not ashamed to do so, this time—he trusted Legend. “How do I say I’m sorry?”

“Like that,” Legend said. “Like,  _ I’m sorry.” _ He shrugged. “Don’t put it off. Don’t overthink it. You’ll regret it,” and he sounded like he knew that feeling intimately. Too intimately for Legend to just be saying good advice.

Hyrule paused, and thought about it. “Did... did you not say sorry to someone?”

The older hero sighed. “Once,” he said, flipping back onto his back to stare at the sky. “There was a girl, and she gave me everything I needed and I had to destroy her home for it.” He sighed, toying with something on his neck—which, as it turned out, was a necklace with a seagull feather charm. “I didn’t know how to tell her sorry before I left, so I didn’t.”

Hyrule watched him do so as Legend rubbed at his eyes. “I regret it every day,” he said.

“Leaving her?” Hyrule asked. He wondered if Legend had that feeling too—the feeling of not knowing where to call home. But Legend shook his head again.

“I don’t regret leaving,” he said. “Not when Zelda—uh, Fable,” he corrected himself, “and Ravio and everyone I knew was back at home. They needed me too, and I needed them. They’re my family, you know?” The Hero of Legend shrugged, and in that moment, he looked simply like a boy. “And—I think I loved her, but I don’t regret it. Loving her and leaving her,” he confessed.

Hyrule frowned. He couldn’t imagine how Legend must have felt, and he didn’t exactly understand by what he meant by not regretting leaving her. “How?” he asked. And Legend hummed, looking toward the stars.

“Because I got to know her.”

Hyrule did not quite get it, but he nodded. “Oh,” he said, and Legend sighed.

“But I never told her I was sorry. And I regret that. So listen to me Hyrule—just, say you’re sorry, okay? Don’t be like me,” Legend said. Hyrule worried his lip, but he nodded anyway.

“Okay, I won’t,” he said. Legend gave a self satisfied nod before he turned back to the sky. In five minutes, he was out like a light, and then it was just Hyrule.

Mama stirred, her movements light. “The boy’s right,” she said. Hyrule groaned.

“I know,” he said. “It doesn’t make it any easier.”

Navi gave a laugh. “My son,” she said, “my boy, life is not easy. But you’re still here, aren’t you?” She kissed his forehead before she went back to combing his hair, layering on her protective spell. The sparks of her lightning magic nipped at his nose.

He looked up at the sky and the stars that were slowly beginning to disappear—dawn was approaching, and it was the darkest hour of the night. And yet, Hyrule knew where he needed to go. Mama had, after all, painted a map on the back of his hand—he thought of what Wild had said,  _ survival is a talent, _ and thought,  _ I’m still here. _

He still had to say he was sorry. Hyrule did not know how he would, but he wanted to. He still had to get through the darkest hour of the night, but Hyrule was a survivor. He would.

“Thank you, Mama,” he whispered, laying down. “Good night. I love you.”

The last thing he heard before he slept was his mother saying, “I love you too,” and Hyrule fell asleep dreaming of the stars. Before he did, he decided  _ yes, _ staring up at the dreams and wishes that blanketed them all. He was unsure, he knew that, but. Well. Hyrule was the traveler hero, and he had been born to wander in the same way the world had its own heartbeat and nature had its song. What was a little getting lost on the way?


	7. roots (reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyrule gets over himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's for the lads in fanfiction channel. thank you all for dispensing some really incredible advice and encouraging me during this period.

When he awoke that morning, the weight of sleeplessness was under his eyes—like dark plums, purple and maybe bruised. Hyrule stretched and thought of everything that had happened last night, the talk with Legend, the worried glances everyone had given them, and...

That argument with Time.

_ No, _ he thought viciously. _ No, don't think of that. You're here with Mama, you haven't seen her in four years, and you're here with your friends. Cheer up, Hyrule, _ he told himself. Hyrule tugged his bedroll off him and noted that dawn's light had touched the land, although the birds had not yet sung its coming.

No. It seemed that Hyrule had woken up with the smell of Wild's cooking, and he turned to the boy in question—hunched over his traveler's cooking pot, humming some song as he waited for the goat butter to melt.

“G'morning," Hyrule said, voice still raspy with sleep. He blinked the fuzzies out of his eyes and yawned as Wild's lips curled up.

"Morning, sleepyhead. Help me cook?"

"Yeah," he hummed, and shook his head. Unfortunately, mind too addled with sleep still, Hyrule forgot that his mother was perched on his head, having ended up napping in his hair. Poor Navi went flying before Hyrule  _ shrieked,  _ lunging for her. "Oh my goddesses," he breathed, "oh, Mama, I'm so sorry, ohhhh by Hylia this is—Wild, stop  _ laughing!" _

For the cook's shoulders shook as he laughed. He looked younger like this, Hyrule thought, younger like there were no scars on his face and he did not rest for one hundred years. "Are you kidding me, this is so  _ funny,  _ oh my  _ goddesses  _ your  _ face—" _

"Shut up, Wild, by Hylia, I swear I won't help you cook," but his shoulders shook with laughter as well. And in Navi's defense, the fairy herself didn't look quite as concerned about being flung as she was ruffled from being abruptly woken up. "Just, I—oh, shove over, fine." Gently, he pushed aside Wild, peering into the pot. "Er, what are we making?"

"...something like, fluffy? Crepes, maybe," the champion thought out loud. "Miss Malon, uh, last time we visited, ended up givin' me some milk. So I thought I might do something with that," he mused.

Hyrule's good mood soured. It wasn't that Malon was something bad, but it was just that thought about Malon led to Time, which led to thinking about last night, and Hyrule did not want to think about last night. "Sure," he said, "if you want I can go get some... berries, or something."

"What kind?"

He shrugged. "I think there's some kind of, uh, wildberries growing here. Not your wildberries, but they're—they're pretty sweet, and tangy, but they're not shaped like yours."

Wild shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat, I'm just making the batter." He made a vague gesture to a ceramic bowl which held the batter—thick and goopy and somehow delicate at the same time. Hyrule nodded and left the campsite, in search of wildberries. 

The sunlight was gentle on his face as it rose higher into the sky, dapples of it stretching over the forest floor. Hyrule followed the path, closing his eyes. It was a wonderful day outside, and in the distance, he could hear the birds chirping, heralding the sun's arrival.

There was a gentle tug on his hair. "You're going the wrong way," Mama said. "This way, down this path." She guided him down to the wildberry bush, all the while tugging at his hair this way and that.

"Wasn't it down the other way—?"

"The forest path will change, every so often," she chimed, "you know this." Then she continued down the path, ignorant to the sudden pit in his stomach... because Hyrule hadn't known that. He did not know this facet of this part of his home, and that thought made him worry. But he shook his head of those thoughts— _ no, none of that today. _

He came to a stop by the bush and picked the berries. Unlike Wild's, er, wildberries, the ones that grew in the forest were round, fitting in the palm of his hand. They shone ruby red in the light, sun ripe to perfection. Hyrule gathered them into his arms and began the journey back, guided by Mama.

When he stepped back into the camp, he was greeted with seven others who had awoke with the sun. "Good morning," he said, and shuffled over to where Wild was. He dropped the fruits into one of Wild's empty bowls.

"What's that?" Four asked.

"Er, they're my Hyrule's version of wildberries. They taste a little different, but they're both pretty sweet and tangy, I guess...?"

"Neat." Four went back to his conversation with Wind and Sky. Hyrule sighed in relief and turned to Wild, who was using one of his wooden spoons to spread the batter thinly over the pot's surface. It began to sizzle, turning from white to yellow-golden, cripsy at the edges.

Meanwhile, Wild turned to the fruits he'd gathered. He picked one and weighed it in his palm, before biting into it. "Uh," Hyrule said, "aren't you supposed to wash those—"

Wild shrugged. "You only live once... twice? Eh, whatever," he said, covering his mouth with his hand as he chewed. _Th_ _ ank the Goddesses for that, _ Hyrule thought, that he was polite enough to do so. The cook then swallowed and wiped the excess juice off with the back of his hand.

"Yeah," he announced, "this'll do." Then he turned to his canteen of water and dumped it into the bowl, setting to work to washing the fruits. "Uh, Hyrule, could you watch the crepes, yeah?"

At that, Hyrule turned to the crepes. The first one  _ seemed  _ done, he supposed, and Hyrule steeled himself. He would not have a repeat of the first time he'd tried this (and Wild had greased the pot too, so maybe it wouldn't turn into some smoking burnt pile of dubious content). Taking Wild's trusty spoon, he scraped at the edges, gently, gently—

_ There! _ He scooped the steaming hot crepe onto the first plate and grinned.

So Wild washed and cut the fruits and prepared everything else, and Hyrule scooped-waited-scooped out the batter and crepes as the world woke up around them. Finally, when they were done, Hyrule let out a self-satisfied sigh. Wild grinned. "Breakfast's ready!"

The rest of the heroes lined up (Hyrule saw Sky shove Warriors out of the way) for their meal. "Thanks, matey," Wind said as he received his portion. So they served, even if there was that awkward moment where Hyrule handed Time his breakfast and the older hero stared at the little fairy in his hair. Finally, he grabbed his own portion and went to go join the others.

"Delicious as always, Wild," Twilight called.

"And Hyrule!" the champion added. "Hyrule helped cook."

_ "Really?"  _ Legend snorted. "Ol' Hyrule? Knew you had it in you, kid," he laughed. Hyrule flushed, partially embarrassed, and maybe quite pleased as well.

"Oh  _ hush, _ you," he said, and the other heroes laughed.

But then Time stood up. "If anyone wants my portion, they can have it," he said. Wild frowned.

"You've barely touched it," he said, "seriously, Time, you need to eat," even if Warriors was already reaching for Time's plate. But the eldest hero shrugged and headed out of the camp.

"I'm not hungry," he said. Hyrule watched his back as he left, and there was a pit in his stomach again—the same feeling he'd had when he was with Mama and picking wildberries. He knew that Time wasn't being entirely truthful, and he couldn't bring himself to look at Time any longer—he cast his eyes away to his own plate.

He told himself that he wasn't going to think those thoughts today, but privately, Hyrule didn't think that was possible at all.

//

When Time came back to camp, he looked more worn for wear. There was a heaviness to his face, and his jaw was set. "There's a portal here," he said. "A portal in the woods."

Warriors startled. _ "Really? _ We  _ just got here! _ Is no one going to give us a break?" The other heroes nodded in agreement, and Hyrule frowned. Warriors was right—they'd just got there, and he'd only  _ just... _

As if she knew, Mama leaned down and whispered into his ear, sparks of lightning at her fingertips. "You know how to get in, child, don't you? I will be waiting here for you," she hummed. Still, Hyrule clenched his fists. He'd only just gotten here and he'd only just reunited with his mother—how could whoever controlled these portals be so cruel?

"Can't you come with us?" he said. His voice sounded tiny to him as he watched the rest of them pack up anyway, uneager for the world transition.

But Mama shook her head. "You know the rules," she said, "if you cross over the barrier, you can't come back."

"Except for me."

"Except for you," Navi agreed, voice light. But her movements stilled, and she came to rest her hand on Hyrule's hair. "You are my son, after all."

"But you can't?"

The fairy sighed. "You are a part of out there," she said. "I have raised you in this forest but you're Hylian—you see these ears, don't you?" She gave a light tug on them and smiled a little at his yelp. "In here... in this forest, if we leave we can't come back. Things do not change, here. Why do you think sugar magic is so heavy?"

"... it can't move," Hyrule answered. "It's... it's to prevent you from moving on. Moving  _ forward." _

"That's right," she hummed. "It's why sugar magic heals—it keeps you as you were, doesn't it?" Lightning sparks arced around her fingers. "It's why we cannot go. We're stuck here, but you, my child—you're different. You're special." And yet, she looked at Time, pondering.

"But," Hyrule began, throat tightening with some feeling, "I'm not. I don't feel special, I'm just—I'm just some ordinary kid who likes traveling and helping people."

"That's what makes you special. You help, Hyrule," she said. "You care—all right here." She poked at his chest, and Hyrule gulped that feeling down his throat and found himself hot with some  _ awful  _ emotion.

"Okay, Mama," he said. "I—okay. I'll come back. I promise." He turned to the rest of the group, who had packed up and were ready to follow Time to the portal. "I'm ready."

There was an unidentifiable look on Time's face, but all the same, he nodded. "Okay," he said, "then we'll go." He turned on his heel and began down the trail, following the memories of things long past in a forest that did not have any of the same memories at all. And so they followed.

They came to the portal. Twilight inhaled, and said, "I'll go first—anyone want to come with?"

"I'll go," Wild said, and the two went in. Then it was Legend, and Sky, then the rest of them were left waiting. And then Hyrule stepped forward—he did not look back to where Navi was watching. He did not look back to his childhood, because he wasn't sure if he could leave if he did. Instead, he steeled himself.

"I'll see you on the other side, I guess." Then he stepped through, and he was falling, falling,  _ falling— _

//

Hyrule came out on the other side and gasped, struggling to regain his breath. He hated portals, hated traveling through those stupid things. They were always so  _ tight. _ And they always ended up spitting everyone out in random places. Slowly, he came to and found himself on the ground, staring up at the sky.

Blue skies. Well, they definitely weren't in his Hyrule.

Then he heard a groan. A familiar sounding groan; Hyrule scrambled to his feet, ready to greet one of his friends until he saw who it was.

_ Oh,  _ he thought. But he stepped forward anyway. "Hey, Time," he started, "uh... rough landing?"

He was given a flat look for his troubles, and Hyrule gulped nervously. His hands began to tremble, nervous, but he inhaled. Offered a hand. "Sorry," he said. Why did it feel so hard to speak? "Dumb question, I guess."

Time took his hand and hauled himself up. "... thanks," he said, lips pressed together. "Do you know where we are?"

"No."

He sighed. "Then I guess we'll have to find them." He turned on his heel and begin to walk, leaving Hyrule to scramble after him. He stared at Time's back, and he gulped.  _ You're alone together—no one else is going to judge you, _ he told himself.  _ Just say it. Remember what Legend told you, better sooner than later. _

"Time," he started, "I—I'm sorry," he blurted out. "Yesterday was awful and I didn't mean it but I was just so  _ angry  _ and  _ frustrated  _ and I didn't mean to put it out on you, I really didn't, I'm sorry Time I was being  _ dumb—" _ Hyrule began to speak, faster and faster until he was losing control.  _ Breathe, _ he told himself, but he couldn't  _ breathe— _

"Calm down," Time sighed. "It's—nevermind," he said. "Let's just find them, alright? Don't worry about it." He didn't bother to look back at Hyrule. He didn't bother to slow down, and Hyrule had to quicken his pace to reach Time.

Strangely enough, Hyrule thought, he didn't feel better. It still was like things were the same—Time still wasn't looking at him. "I'm sorry," he said again. But Time wasn't looking at him, because he was only looking past him—past Hyrule, past his apology, looking to the horizon and searching for the other members of their party. Hyrule began to feel himself grow angry.

It wasn't like he wanted to be. But Time still refused to listen. Still refused to even  _ look  _ at Hyrule, leaving him to always chase after him; how could Hyrule ever apologize to Time if it didn't seem like they were having the same conversation in the first place? "I said I'm  _ sorry, _ Time," Hyrule ground out once more.

But Time didn't respond, and Hyrule breathed. In and out.  _ Don't yell,  _ he told himself,  _ it'll make things worse. _ If Time wasn't going to say anything to him, then Hyrule wasn't going to say anything more. If he wasn't going to even bother listening to him, then what was the use?

He did not know it then, because he was still young, but Hyrule did not know then that silence was just as damning as well.

The rest of the trek to find the others was spent in an awkward silence, up until they caught sight of Four and his own group—Twilight, Wind, and Wild. "Oh! It's them!" Wind shouted, waving the two of them over.

Night fell, so they pulled over—unfortunately, none of them recognized whose world this was (although some of them had a sinking suspicion it might be Legend's). Wild made the stew in silence—without three of their group, talking didn’t feel right. Weird, like there was a piece of them missing.

But Hyrule thought he would not have talked anyway—not when Time was acting like that. He sat at the edge of the camp, watching for any monsters. Every time he turned his head to check back, he saw Time pacing on the other side of camp, as far as possible he could be.

"Uh," he heard Four whisper to Wild, "what's up with them? Did... something major happen?"

"I don't know. I hope they get over it, though." Then Wild ladled their dinner—veggie stew—into their respective bowls. "Dinner's ready!"

It looked delicious. It smelled good; cubes of carrots and other vegetables swimming in the sweet, thick broth. Hyrule was sure it was delicious—Wild was a masterful cook, after all.

It was tasteless in his mouth.

//

They packed camp up the next morning to search for their missing comrades, and Hyrule didn't talk to Time.

Which, he knew, would make the situation worse. But he had  _ tried  _ already. And Time had brushed him off; what was the use in talking to someone who wouldn't listen? Hyrule knew the others were talking about them as they looked for Warriors and Legend and Sky.  _ Do you know what's up with Hyrule? _ Wild whispered to Four.

_ No, _ Four would say.

_ Is Time okay? _ Wind would ask Twilight.

_ I don't know. _

One day turned into two days turned into four. Finally, they came across the others, and it was like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders—Wind cheered and threw himself into Legend's arms as Warriors hugged Wild tightly. Sky was tagged by Twilight and Four.

"You're  _ here!"  _ Wind cried.  _ "Finally! _ Do you guys know whose Hyrule this is?"

"Mine," Legend said. Four sighed—he'd guessed it was Sky's. Still, conversation burst forth once more—they'd their missing pieces back. Finally, it was right to talk. Still, Hyrule and Time both remained silent, and it wasn't hard for the others to notice that.

"What happened?" he heard Warriors whisper to Wild, who shrugged. Hyrule pressed his lips together. He didn't want to hear this, and he definitely wasn't in the mood. He knew that it was aggravating. Didn't they understand that Hyrule had tried already?

Night rose once more, so they stopped, settling in to make camp (Hyrule made sure to split off into a job that would not require human involvement at all). When he came back, firewood in tow, it was quiet—subdued, even with all of them together. Hyrule looked away. He knew it might have been because of him.

Wild served them skewers that night, and Hyrule chewed on his as he watched the others try to converse. Sky gave a smile to Time—but Time had a blank look on his face, looking past everyone. Sky's smile slowly disappeared. 

That was when Twilight stood up. "Enough," he said. "This is  _ ridiculous." _

Hyrule blinked, and for the first time in a while, said, "Huh?"

"You heard me." Twilight jabbed his finger in two directions—him and Time. "This is ridiculous. You two have been acting awful for the past week, and it's weighing down upon the group, don't you see that?"

"It's fine, Twilight." And Time broke his silence too, snapping back into reality at Twilight. Viciously, stupidly, Hyrule flushed red with shame and anger. Of  _ course  _ Time would listen to Twilight. Of  _ course  _ he would, but not to Hyrule, who had spent the entire time chasing after him and still wouldn't even say anything to him.

"No, it's not fine. Don't you see? We're all worried for you two," Twilight said. When Hyrule looked around, he saw the other heroes nodding. Guilt began to pool in his stomach when he saw Four's lips, bitten with worry; how the furrow in Legend's brows had been present for the most of the week.

"It's  _ fine, _ Twilight," Hyrule snapped and immediately after was mortified. "I—sorry," he mumbled. He didn't mean to snap at Twilight, because it wasn't Twilight's fault; Hyrule took a look around him for the first time that week.  _ Really  _ took a look, beyond his hurt and anger, and he saw how everyone's faces were drawn with worry.

But Twilight frowned. "That's what I'm talking about," he said, "this is what drives us apart, and really? Over something you two don't can't even talk to each other about? It's not that  _ hard,  _ just talk to each other. Or us, we're here  _ too. _ What's going on? What's the problem? We can help,  _ I  _ can help—"

"I said it's  _ fine,  _ Twilight," Time said. "It's no big deal. I'll talk to Hyrule about it."

But Twilight frowned. "No, you won't. Not if this past week's shown me anything."

Hyrule flushed red, and this time, he knew it was in shame—he didn't want to talk about it in front of everyone. Maybe it was because it was embarrassing, because he was ashamed of his actions. "We'll talk it out, I swear Twi," he mumbled, "just, not right now, okay?"

"You're just going to keep on putting it off then!"

At the same time, Time and Hyrule snapped back, "No, we won't, it's  _ fine  _ Twilight!" Hyrule burned red, redder and hotter with shame. He hadn't meant it, hadn't meant to be so angry. But It was too late—Twilight stumbled back before his face twisted in something like  _ hurt. _

Then, "For  _ Farore's sake," _ Wind yelled, "this is so  _ stupid!" _

The camp was silent in the wake his declaration left, save for the crackling of embers. Hyrule stared at Wind. "What?" he said, and Wind made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

"I'm sick of this," he said. "I'm sick of this and how you both are acting. I thought when we reunited with the others it would be _fun,_ but _no!_ It's just been awful, ever since we went to Hyrule's world. I thought it would get better. I _thought._ But _no._ _There's_ been awful, _here's_ been awful, and I just want to go _home._

"Stop acting dumb! Stop acting _ stupid! _ I'm younger than you both and you all look down on me, don't think I don't know how you look at me sometimes, but I'm beginning to think that's really really dumb because it's clear that at least I know how to  _ talk." _ He stomped the ground to emphasize his point.

Hyrule looked around the group, and he saw it—he saw their tiredness. Guilt grew in his stomach.  _ I've been acting like an ass, haven't I, _ he thought.

The Hero of Wind threw his hands up in the air. "Do something. Talk. Punch each other, I don't  _ care _ anymore. But stop acting like asses," he ranted. He was breathing hard, gesturing with his hands. "Just don't be awful. It's not that hard. Don't drag the rest of us down into whatever problem  _ you're  _ having—"

But here was the problem, and perhaps none of them could be blamed: none of them could have known what would happen next; their opponent was a very tricky one, after all. None of them could have known of the trap a shadow had set, waiting for them to trip and fall in the darkness so no one could see it. So caught up in his rant, Wind didn't notice the vortex beneath his feet, growing and growing until it was too late for him to step out of it. 

"Just please," he said, looking like a thirteen year old boy, "please, just  _ make up—" _

He stepped backward, and then Wind was falling into the vortex, through the portal. Then he disappeared.

_ "Wind!" _ Warriors shouted. He did not hesitate; he ran to the spot where Wind had vanished and where the portal had remained. He only turned to the Hyrule and Time, staring straight into their eyes. "Don't see what you did?"

"I," Hyrule said, terrified. What else was he supposed to say?

"I hope you make up," Warriors said, and then he dived through the portal after Wind. The rest of them looked uncertain at each other, before Wild began to shove everything unpacked into his sheikah slate. _ "Go!" _ he shouted.

Sky stepped forward. "I'll see you on the other side," he said, and dived through the portal; Four and Legend followed after him. Twilight helped Wild pack up, while Time stared, looking lost.

_ "Go," _ Wild said again. "Hyrule, Time, _ go!" _

But Hyrule stood, frozen. He wasn't sure why he couldn't urge himself to move, was not sure why he could not act. He had always loved to explore, off trail, or perhaps with a map. But this was a kind of lost he couldn't grasp, could not understand.

He was the hero of Hyrule and he still could not act.

"What are you  _ waiting  _ for?" Twilight snarled, and Hyrule shook himself back to reality. His hands began to tremble, but he thought of what had happened: how awful he'd been, how terrible and awful he had been to everyone. And, especially, to Time.

He turned to Time, who looked lost. He turned to Time, who looked like his brother from the stories Mama had told him; he turned to Time and it didn't matter if he wasn't looking to Hyrule. Hyrule was looking at him. "Time," he said. "I'm sorry." He did not wait for a response. He dove into the portal, shoved into a space warping smaller and smaller. But he didn't close his eyes, didn't stop  _ looking— _

Hyrule stepped out of the frying pan into the fire-aka-portal, into the horde of monsters. He did not falter. He _could_ not falter, so he simply raised his silver sword: he was the hero of Hyrule. And if he could not act, then he would  _ make  _ himself do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](https://mochibun23.tumblr.com/)   
> 


	8. rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyrule _rises._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new year, new chapter baby!!!!!! this one is to the lu discord especially for everyone who sat around and watched this be written a year ago. its almost nostalgic haha

The difference was at least this portal spat them all together onto the same battlefield. ”Wind!” Hyrule cried, “Thank the goddesses, you’re okay—“

“Behind you!”

Hyrule turned on his heel, slashing at a bokoblin; it didn’t die. Of  _ course  _ it wouldn’t: there was black blood on his silver blade. He inches backwards, closer to the others—they wouldn’t leave his back unguarded.

“Whose monsters are these?”

“Darknuts,” Wind said. “And they’re mine. Five of them—I counted, and Sky says the three lizalfos are his and we think the bokoblins are Wild’s.”

A pit in his stomach began to form. “Are _ all _ of them infected?” 

“Yeah,” Warriors said, blowing some hair out of his face. “You saw it for yourself.”

Hyrule looked at his blade, black blood dripping. He closed his eyes and wondered how much it would be worth it to curse at this moment. “Right. Okay.” 

Then as if on cue, the missing three party members dropped onto the battlefield and once more was their crew whole again. The hazy truce had broken. The battle started again and Hyrule watched one of Sky’s lizalfos launch itself at him and thought,  _ well that might be a little troublesome. _

It unhinged its jaw, opening wide to release a blast of hot air and heat. Hyrule nearly  _ did _ swear then: he did not have a shield with him, because he hadn’t been carrying it when he dove through the portal; in fact they were all woefully unprepared. He had nothing to shield himself with, and he closed his eyes, bracing himself. But he was also a hero, and heroes  _ acted.  _ He threw out his hand and thought of the Shield spell, the one the wise man had taught to him—

_ I will not let anything through I will not let anything through I will not let anything through, _ he thought, and when he opened his eyes, to his amazement he found the air shimmering. Lightning crackled, ozone and electric. A magic barrier stood before them, thick with power—it was shielding the flames.

“Oh,” Hyrule said. Red washed over his tunic and relief washed over him, so much so that his knees buckled. He went toppling to the ground.

“Hyrule!” Sky called, “Are you okay?”

But he really only had eyes for one person.

“Time,” Hyrule breathed out, and Time pulled out his Biggoron sword. When the lizalfos descended upon him again, the man smirked and just swung his heavy sword into its side. For all the black blood boosted its capabilities, even it fell to the sword’s might, and bursted into smoke and ash.

But Time didn’t stop to watch the show. No, he was a hero; instead made his way toward Hyrule. “You okay?”

“I, uh, yes,” Hyrule said. His tunic was not the only red thing about him anymore. He flushed, embarrassed. “Th-thank you.”

Time did not say he was sorry at that moment. But he clapped Hyrule’s shoulder and said, “Watch your back,” before he went back into the foray. Hyrule thought back to how Legend had said actions spoke louder than words, and thought maybe it was silly they’d tried to talk it out when it was clear neither of them knew how to communicate very well.

Even still, it was not easy. They were still monsters, and this was still a trap set by a shadow, who knew everything about lurking in the night. Sky poked weaknesses into their armor, poised like the perfect knight. Time alternated between his Deku nuts and Biggoron sword, and in the moonlight, he looked like every inch the fairytale hero he was to Hyrule.

(They did not comment on how Hyrule kicked dirt and spat fury into the faces of monsters, how he tripped them and yanked on their tails. There was glory to fighting, yes, but there was a glory to just  _ living. _ Honor did not win those battles.)

And Hyrule still felt out of breath, chasing for his next gasp of air.  _ I must’ve overloaded that shield spell with magic, _ he thought,  _ because  _ nothing _ went through but they usually just cut the damage by half. _ And now he was magicless and this was exactly the reason he didn’t want anyone to know about it in the first place. It was undependable.

But Hyrule refused to allow himself to become undependable as well. He yanked on one lizalfo’s tail and sent it crashing to the ground, picked his sword up, and swung it down.

_ Sssss! _ It hissed when it cut through the flesh, before the monster melted away.

When the last of the lizalfos had fallen, they turned to the rest of the battlefield. But the others had not been doing quite as well as they did. The bokoblins had ganged up on Legend, Twilight, and Four; there was too much chaos from the amount of people and weapons being tossed around. But Sky lifted his chin and marched off, and he was not quite mortal when he did so, holy power in his hands.

Which left Hyrule and Time to the help with Darknuts, which was a struggle. Although most of the first layer of armor had been sliced off, it was clear the others were struggling—blood trickled down from Wild’s forehead, and there was a nasty cut on Wind’s arm.

“We’re here,” Hyrule called, “don’t worry, hang tight—“

And then there was an ear piercing, deafening roar. Monster and man alike pressed whatever they could to their ears to block out the sound—except for one. The Hero of the Wild stood, wide eyed and terrified. “A lynel,” he said. “That’s a lynel.”

Warriors paled. “A  _ what?!” _ But he didn’t need to ask, for marching over the horizon was the lynel—red-maned and furious that they happened to be encroaching on its territory. “Are you  _ fucking  _ with me?!”

“It’s a red-maned one, at least, so there’s that?”

“Wild, that doesn’t make things  _ better!” _

But the arrival of the lynel had changed the battlefield—monster and man crowded together, now, in a haze of fury-panic-anger. Not even Sky’s control could help him here.

But they were heroes, and heroes acted. Hyrule didn’t falter. He did not falter when the Lynel roared when Wild began to battle with it. He did not falter when the first, second, third darknut fell. 

But he also did not know why his eyes were constantly drawn to that side of the field where Time battled the monsters. All the same, Hyrule's eyes were. It was why he noticed it—the monster creeping up behind time, a simple bokoblin with a crude, warped metal sword in its hands.

Fear leapt into Hyrule's throat. No, he thought, because Time had not noticed that monster, too caught up in his own battle with another monster who wore silver armor that blinded the Hero of Time to his own weakness. Hyrule ducked underneath the darknut heading toward him and sprinted across to Time, faster and faster, propelled by the last vestiges of magic and everything he had of desperation and want. And then he faltered.

But—

_ I cannot let him die, _ Hyrule thought,  _ not when I still need to say sorry, _ and he thought of Legend, in that brief moment: how Legend had said  _ actions speak louder than words. _ And Hyrule had never shown him that he was sorry. No, how could’ve he, when he’d only cold shouldered Time and refused to even associate with him?

And Hyrule ran, lungs-chest- _ everything _ burning within him. He couldn't tell if it was from exertion or the desperation running in his brains. He reached out and there was not a drop of magic left within him—he was entirely mortal, and he was all too aware of that. If he did this, he would die, because there was nothing that could save them both. 

Hyrule did not care, because he was a hero, and this was what heroes did: save other people.

He shoved Time down to the ground, and it was not an easy feat; Time was solid and structured of humility and metal armor. Hyrule did not care and he still did it. In the moonlight, he was only able to see the warped silver out of the corner of the eye before it sank into his side.

_ Oh, _ he thought. He hadn't quite expected the pain, hadn't thought of the scarlet that bloomed from it. He wheezed and fell on top of Time, and there were still monsters. Hyrule curled himself around the older hero and trembled.  _ "Don't you touch my brother,"  _ he gasped out.

“Hyrule,” Time said, “what have you  _ done?” _ He was horrified, and sounded so. But that’s what Hyrule should’ve known, and he didn’t think he could blame Time—not when there was a sword in his side.

Time struggled.  _ "Hyrule," _ he said again, sounding terrified, and Hyrule turned his head so he could see him, scared and desperate and still  _ alive. _

"It's okay," he mumbled, feeling woozy. "Don' worry, Time, I'll protect you." Why was his vision going black? Time shook his head, reaching out with his hand.

"Hyrule,  _ don't—" _

But it was too late by then. Hyrule didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, because then he died.

//

Time trembled. He was a hero, and he was a man. He was a boy who had his brother’s blood slick on his armor. When he touched Hyrule’s face, it was still warm. So was his hands and his hair and he was _ still warm. _

Time trembled. When he stood up, fat tears rolled down his face. He hadn’t cried since he was a boy; when he swung his sword, there was a force to it, this time. No longer did he fight for his own life, but he fought for Hyrule’s, too. He hefted his Biggoron sword and slew the bokoblin. 

Slaying it did not feel like vengeance.

And Hyrule still laid on the ground, bloody and unbreathing. And he was still warm.

And he was still warm, him and his crown of magic on his head.

//

Magic is a fickle thing and there was a certain magic in a mother's love. Hyrule was Navi's second child, and she loved him all the same. But before him, there was her first child. Her firstborn.

His name was Link. He was not a hero and he was not a man. He was only a boy who never had the chance to become those things. When Navi’s first son fell, she almost did too.

She did not. She spent the rest of her life dreaming of what ifs, and it did not do her any good because she was a broken mother. But she was desperate, and in her very hands her magic changed. It changed from sugar magic to lightning magic, because she was desperate to change the story.

She crafted a spell made of her mother’s love and there was a magic in that. Once upon a time, when Navi had another child—this time with brown hair instead of blond—he tried to leave the forest.

When he did, as all boys tended to do, she let him. But first, she cast her protection onto him. She had told him this:  _ It will protect you. I know it will, I’ve had years to make it. _

_ How? _ he had asked.

Navi had smiled.  _ A mother’s love will never fail, not when it matters most. _ And it did not fail now.

When the Hero of Time trembled but did not falter, he fought desperately. He did not notice how behind him, the magic crowning Hyrule illuminated their surroundings, so bright it was hard to look at. He did not notice how the air was heavy with ozone and electricity, how lightning magic twisted and changed.

Perhaps that could be forgiven.

Across time and space, a mother waited; when her son fell, this time she did not wait around and mope. No, Navi was a far more desperate fairy than that. Even across time and space her magic was that strong, fueled by her love.

And she could stay. She could stay, Navi knew, stay in this forest home where nothing changed and it was safe, guarded by the spirits of dead children. She could stay and be safe.

She had done that once. That was how her son had fallen; Navi left and did not look back. She was tired of her sons being stupid and being silly.

When she arrived at the battlefield, she saw her fallen son. When Navi came, she saw that her other son, too, was about to fall—even if he was bigger and sadder than she was used to. But he was still her son and he still preferred actions over words, and she regretted how she treated him. No one remained but them and the monsters.

She said, “You will not have them, they are mine; I will not run away and leave them to die, not when I already have. And if the goddesses smite me, so be it,” for she was breaking their laws. But she and her magi changed the story, and the fairy said, “And they are good and they are  _ mine  _ and  _ you cannot have them.” _ And she was a small fairy, and her son was bigger than he had ever been allowed to be, put against monsters made of shadows.

They won.

But it did not solve the problem that Hyrule was dead, and Time fell to his knees and cried, hero-man-boy extraordinaire. Hesitantly, Navi wiped his tears.

“Do not worry,” she said, “I am a fairy, and he is your brother.”

Time’s voice was flat. “He’s  _ dead.” _

“No, he’s not,” she murmured. She floated down to Hyrule. “Stupid boy,” she said, “you promised to return home, didn’t you?”

And she was a fairy, and she flew around him, faster and faster and faster until it was dizzying to watch her magic. She flew upwards, up and up and up to the night sky. But Navi was not just any fairy—she was a desperate one. 

Desperate fairies did not use sugar magic, healing and tasting of sweet things. She used lightning magic, a harbinger of power. Of change.

And so the story changed.

//

When Hyrule awoke, Navi sobbed.  _ ”Stupid _ boy,” she said, “you made a  _ promise.” _

Hyrule sat up gingerly.  _ Owwww. _ His side ached and his back felt like he hadn’t stretched it in  _ ages. _ Nonetheless, he grasped Time’s hand with his own and beckoned Navi down with the other. And he grinned, because they were all  _ alive. _

Across the battlefield, together with Wind, Wild knocked down the (uninfected) lynel. Legend and Twilight slew the last of the bokoblins, and Warriors, Four, and Sky took down the final darknut. Someone cheered, and Wind shouted, “We  _ won!” _

Hyrule grinned, because they had won and they were alive. “Mama,” he said, “I did fulfill my promise, don’t you see? I’m home now.”

Home was not a forest he couldn’t go back to. Home was not a castle made of mortar and cold flagstones. Home was eight other boys and a fairy and two princesses, and he could not return home when he was already with them.

Then, “Oh!” Navi gasped. Time’s jaw dropped open, and when the others had come closer to help Hyrule up, there was more gasping.

He sat there confused. “Uh,” he said, “er—what are you guys gasping about?”

“Hyrule,” Wind said, “your back, look at your back, holy Hylia.”

This was the thing about lightning magic: it was a harbinger of change. Hyrule was a son of Hylia like every other Hylian, and he was the son of Navi, like only one other could claim to be. He was part Hylian and part fairy, and now—

Hyrule turned around and nearly shrieked. “I have  _ wings?!” _ And he did—shimmery and iridescent, lightning magic sparking on the surface of them. “I—I don’t even—okay. Weirder things have happened and I’m still alive, so I’m just—wow. Um. Okay.”

He huffed out a laugh. “You know what?” he said. “We’re alive. Holy Hylia, we’re  _ alive!” _

Wild was the first to break out into laughter with him. “We did it!” Once one followed, so did the others. And soon, there were nine heroes giggling, laughing and laughing because they were alive. Hyrule thought  _ survival is a talent, _ and knew that it was true.

Navi watched them laugh, and she smiled, watching them; there would be rest after this. She had to talk to someone. Or, in fact, they  _ all  _ needed to talk to someone.

But they were alive, and Hyrule found that he didn’t find himself dreading that talk. And he grinned and he laughed, a hero of Hyrule, a hero amongst other heroes—a boy amongst his brothers and his family and a home.

And he thought that this was what a home was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOSTLY I'M JUST EMBARRASED IT TOOK ME THIS LONG TO GET AROUND TO UPLOADING THIS CHAPTER SINCE EVERYTHING WAS PREWRITTEN but it's nearly been a year since i first wrote this story and it still means a lot to me even if the writing does make me cringe a little now. but that's okay!!!!!! we'll get better. we always do.
> 
> happy new year!

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://mochibun23.tumblr.com/)  
> this chapter is dedicated to hinn, the person who enabled me to write and complete this fic. i don't know if i could have done it without you, dude. thank you.


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